


Sympathy for the Devil

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: Darklight, Demon Under Glass
Genre: Betrayal, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Horror, Religious Themes, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Shaw, agent of the secret organisation The Faith, offers Joe McKay safety from both Delphi and Simon Molinar.  But there are always agendas, and prices to be paid.  A 'six degrees' fic for The Sentinel, and a crossover between Demon Under Glass and Darklight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy for the Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carodee (Caro_Dee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/gifts).



> I've marked this story as gen as well as f/m, despite there being focus on the relationship between Joe and Lilith, because the overall story isn't _about_ that. The most sexually explicit scene here is a brief depiction of m/m assault, which I haven't included in the specific warnings because for some people those warnings are advertisements and people seeking a kink would be sorely disappointed. This is a horror story. The gore is brief but it's there. My story follows on directly from the DUG film and ignores the novelisations and story tie-ins.
> 
> [This Dreamwidth link](http://mab-browne.dreamwidth.org/223067.html) contains a summary of Darklight. Please ignore the link to the summary of Demon Under Glass, which is now found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1278643.  
> Spoilery, natch.
> 
> Thank you to Caro, for your donation to Moonridge, and to Elmyraemilie for beta and general hand-holding.

The Faith had no great cathedrals, no basilicas or temples, no soaring churches built to the honour of the Lord. Its work had always been secret, and its few Houses were built as fortresses and hiding places, to contain evil within, or to offer safety from the evil without. Its agents were men apart, who told the whole truth of their role in the sinful, struggling world to few; their wives and their children might be party to some of The Faith's secrets, they might not.

The Faith believed that the world was perfectible; they were God's instruments, and the most important part of their work was the cleansing of the world of the demonicos strain; no task was too great for The Faith to undertake, or too small to be worth the effort to aid the world's slow pilgrimage towards the glory intended for it.

***

James Conroy was fast leaving late middle-age behind and while he didn't quite acknowledge himself old, he saw the necessity coming. Walking the narrow, quiet halls that sheltered his brethren, he felt melancholy. He'd walked similar halls as a young man afire with the delight of mission, and it was hard now to make his way as an aging man weighed down with the knowledge of betrayal and failure. He entered the door of the Meditation Room.

"Prefect," he said.

The Prefect looked up at him and smiled. The Prefect was no more a young man than Conroy, but his face was clear, despite the travails he'd known, and his smile genuine. He still had the Lord's spirit to warm him. "James. Sit down."

Conroy paused, and then, instead of sitting, he knelt before the Prefect with his head bowed.

The Prefect's voice became stern. "Did I ask for this abasement?"

Conroy shook his head.

"Humility can be a highly effective bait for the sin of pride, James. Give your knees a rest and sit beside me. Come."

Conroy rose somewhat awkwardly and sat on one of the red-cushioned benches. He found it hard to look at the Prefect, who looked older than Conroy might have expected after three years. Instead, his eyes rested on the The Faith's sigil on the wall – three within three, bounded by the circle of eternity.

"You have a report summary for me," the Prefect said quietly.

Conroy nodded and sighed. He felt it ought to be more in the nature of a confession. "The Delphi Project is crippled for now. It would appear that when Simon Molinar escaped that he took the time to remove the samples of his blood, and the virus that had been extracted from it. The Project retains some information of course, but I'm satisfied that its progress will be limited without access to Molinar." It went without saying in this room that the former Director of Delphi, one James Conroy, had executed the sabotage that Simon Molinar had been too busy to carry out as he ran for his life. Indeed, Conroy suspected that Molinar was more than happy for Delphi to play with his blood, so long as they left the vampire himself alone.

"You did well."

Conroy shook his head. "If I'd done well, then Molinar would be dead." He rubbed his hand across his eyes. "I trusted outside The Faith. I trusted Bassett. I expected that he might be seduced by the Project's aims, I was prepared for _that_, but I never expected that he'd be seduced by his fascination with the beast. Everything Bassett unleashed..."

The Prefect was gently matter-of-fact. "He became your friend. Friends are permitted, James." Was there a shadow in the Prefect's face as he spoke? Conroy wouldn't have presumed to judge, but he wondered. Chappell, that dead Judas, had been the Prefect's friend, too.

"Not at the cost of the work of The Faith. I refused to see him clearly, and because of that Molinar is free to hurt innocents."

"You erred, yes. And because of that you plan to make amends."

"Just as the order must make amends," Conroy suggested dully. He held the Prefect in reverence, but Chappell and his amoral despair had been a shock to them all, a terrible counter-balance to the hope and faith that they'd all been taught. "Immortality is a temptation that drives men and women to recklessness and folly. Crazy folly, Prefect."

"I know. I know." The Prefect's voice grew rueful.

"Delphi is watching Dr McKay, and that knowledge is the only thing keeping Molinar at bay. I don't want either of them laying hands on him."

"Understandable."

Conroy tried to contain his vehemence. "I thought Shaw, now that I've had time to review possibilities. He's a competent man. And McKay is a competent enough doctor. Not Hirsch's quality of course, but he could repay our protection."

"He'll accept it, you think?"

"Dr McKay is caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea, Prefect, and he knows it. He'll be skittish, but that's another reason to send Shaw. He _looks_ trustworthy, and McKay will need a gentle hand. Delphi hopes to scoop Molinar up with McKay, but any sign of trouble and they won't wait."

"We won't be so very different to Delphi, my friend." The Prefect sounded amused.

"We'll be entirely different, Prefect. When Molinar comes in search of Dr McKay, we'll kill him." Yes, they would kill the beast and they certainly wouldn't set Molinar on McKay, nor on anyone else, as an 'experiment' in creating more abominations. Conroy bit his tongue against further outbursts of irritability. The Prefect was only having his joke.

"Immortality is indeed a temptation, James. You don't think that McKay might seek out Molinar on his own account?"

"I don't think so. Bassett's last 'successful' experiment..." Conroy paused. The memory of that video hurt; if you had asked him two years ago he would have declared Bassett a dedicated researcher, but Conroy would never have believed that he would literally throw an unsuspecting young woman to a monster. "I made sure that Doctor McKay saw the video of Chloe Martin's death, as part of the debriefing." He struggled for words, and took refuge in bitter understatement. "Dr McKay was disturbed by what he saw." The words, 'So was I' went unspoken. "Molinar – enjoys playing with his food. McKay may be tempted further down the track but for now he'll be more than willing to stay out of the vampire's way. We can use that as leverage."

The Prefect nodded. "Very good. Advise our operations people."

Conroy nodded in his turn. "Prefect. May I ask something?"

"Of course you may."

"My wife. How is she coping?"

"Ellen is a strong and dignified widow. Her faith sustains her." The Prefect's hand rested on Conroy's shoulder, affirming a hard choice. "We all make sacrifices, James, and I know that yours is one of the hardest The Faith demands."

There was a lump in Conroy's throat. "Yes," he said, ashamed of the roughness of his voice. Yes, he had been forced to sacrifice, but no more than any other man of The Faith, and certainly no more than the Prefect. He swallowed his pain back down, and left the Prefect and the meditation room behind him. On the way to the Operations Centre, he saw through an open door a young woman, one of very few women who had access to this House. She wore the soutane, and was sitting down reading. Perhaps she felt his gaze on her. Her head lifted and she smiled, tentative but inviting, and Conroy passed on hastily. He hoped and trusted, he had _faith_, that Bassett was the only friend he would lose to fascination with the beast.

***  
Joe kept himself busy – not a difficult job for a doctor. He worked long shifts and he came home and he ate and he slept, and he read: reports; books; the minutes of the ethics committee he served on in an unsatisfactory effort at atonement. He looked over his shoulder a lot, too, and every time he had to go out anywhere at night, his heart thudded fit to make him sick.

Joe had contemplated going to ground, hiding, but he loved being a doctor, and the kinds of places that would take a doctor without thoroughly investigating his references weren't the kind of places he wanted to work. Not be a doctor? An unthinkable waste; a declaration that his life as he'd known it was over forever, and he wasn't prepared to accept that yet. He'd contemplated travelling overseas, working for something like Doctors Without Borders, but again – he might, possibly, put himself out of Delphi's reach, but he wasn't so sure that Simon Molinar wouldn't find him wherever he went. So he worked in LA, paralysed by his indecision, and discovered that a man could almost forget that he was waiting for the hammer to fall if he found enough distraction.

Right now, the distraction had become the necessity of juggling three bags of groceries, one of which was well on the slide to the floor when a presence beside Joe caught it. He dropped the other two bags in his startled flinch backwards.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spook you like that, but it looked like you needed the help."

It was the new guy in the building. Joe had seen him once or twice before; he was certainly noticeable. Tall and fit-looking, the man had what were practically movie-star good looks, softened by fine lines on his face and the beginning of grey in the close-cut hair. He was clearly not an actor – this was LA, and even the men bucking for the 'distinguished' roles dyed their hair.

"Uh, thanks." Joe roused himself to more courtesy. It wasn't this man's fault that Joe was jumpy these days. "For the groceries save. At least you got the bag with the eggs in it."

"That was my thought," the guy said, with a pleasant smile. He stuck out his hand. "Will." Joe quickly shook the hand, not bothering to offer his own name, and then picked up the groceries from the other two bags. At least he wasn't going to embarrass the good name of his profession – it was all healthy food scattered on the floor.

His goods gathered back into their bags, Joe made his way to his apartment door, and unlocked it, scooted the groceries just inside the door, took the other bag from Will and hesitated just for a moment. The guy gave a good first impression – Joe granted him that. Still, good presentation didn't mean a damn thing in the end, and besides, Joe had the nasty suspicion that he could only be a Jonah to anyone he knew right now. He smiled perfunctorily, said 'thanks' again, and shut the door on his rescuer's face.

That should have been the end of it. A week and a half passed, and Joe had a rare weekend off. Around five that Saturday afternoon there was a knock at the door, which started Joe's heart racing again.

He stood, and dragged his hands through his hair. Shit, he thought in a burst of black humour, he'd be abusing doctors' prescribing privileges and gulping down the sedatives any day now. Any day.

"Who is it?" he called, heading for the door but keeping his distance. And what'll you do if it is Delphi, he scoffed to himself. Take a dive out your window?

"Will. Your neighbour?"

Handsome Will, egg rescuer. Joe took a breath and opened the door. "Hey."

Will stood in the hall, looking a touch nervous. "Hi. Look, if this sounds weird just say so, but I'm new, I came in from the sticks, and I don't know anyone out here. If you want to go dutch on a beer and steak at McCools, then I'm asking. So let's do this again. I'm Will."

Joe eyed him up and down. He'd turned down visits from friends and withdrawn from a lot of social contact the last six months. It had been the wise decision. He didn't (couldn't for that matter) want to talk about Delphi or Simon Molinar, his regrets about that appalling mess, or his anxiety that he was living on borrowed time. It _was_ a wise decision, but he was still lonely, and here was this guy offering – what? Some beer and a chance to talk to someone who didn't know how Joe had been a different man this time last year? Joe took one look behind him at his tidy, barren apartment and said, "Hi, Will. I'm Joe. Thanks. I guess I could do with a beer and a steak."

Will smiled, and Joe permitted himself a closer look at this man. Good looking, yes, but there was something worn and tired in his face, and oddly watchful. "It's a little early yet," Will said. "Meet you out the front about 6.30?"

"Yeah, sure. See you then."

"Deal." Will turned away and Joe shut the door. It would still be light at 6.30, but it'd be dark by the time he came back home. He rubbed the tips of three fingers hard across his forehead. "Too bad, McKay. Or do you _want_ to turn into a paranoid agoraphobic?" He thought back to his neighbour. Watchful, alert. Perhaps Joe should just get into his car and drive now, and pick produce for a living, maybe stitch up cuts on the side. But the stupid thing was, that on the basis of a few minute's contact, he found himself liking Will.

The liking took the smallest envious battering when he saw what Will was driving when he went downstairs later.

"That is one sweet pony car," Joe said.

Will's smile was warm and amusedly self-deprecatory. "We all have our vanities."

Joe settled himself into the passenger seat. He'd thought to simply confirm their destination and then take his own car but, when Will was clearly happy to offer, no way was he passing up a ride in this baby. Delphi would have come for him with black SUVs, not a low-slung red coupe.

They took off into the California evening, Will handling his car with surety but no showiness. Joe relaxed a little more, until his professional interest was piqued by the realisation that there was a substantial scar on the back of Will's hand – some sort of puncture wound by the look of it. Knife? Bullet? The man was lucky he had the grip to operate the car properly.

"Do you maintain her yourself?" he asked. The car was a safer subject matter for now.

Will shook his head. "I had a reliable garage back home; someone who did it for the love of it as much as anything."

Joe snorted. "Good luck on finding that sort of service in this town."

"I think there are still a few people who don't place money above everything. The trick is finding them."

"Yeah, that's the trick. So where's back home?"

"New Mexico."

"And you came to LA, why?"

Will cast Joe a quick look. "Work. I represent a small company that's looking to expand. LA presents opportunities." They slowed for the lights. "You? Are you a local boy?"

"I was raised back east, but I'm a doctor. There are always plenty of opportunities to move around. I work in a Veteran's Hospital."

"A doctor. We need those."

"Yeah." Joe shut his eyes for a moment. Doctors were needed for all kinds of things, these days. You never knew what sort of patient you might end up with, or what you might have to do with him. Suddenly, the idea of a steak house and its sizzle of burning flesh didn't sound like such a great idea after all. He opened his eyes to see that they were turning onto the freeway – not the quickest way to their destination at _all_.

"Doctor McKay, I owe you an apology."

Joe's heart nearly stopped right there and then. It wasn't even the use of his surname - Will could have picked that up legitimately. No, it was the no-nonsense formality that left him hollow with terror. "Where are you taking me?" It was the only question worth asking and he could barely shape it with his suddenly arid mouth.

"Nowhere in particular as yet. This is simply a good time and place to talk. If we go back to your building after this, Delphi will think I'm worth watching, but right now they're not paying any attention to me. If you agree to come with me, we can just keep on driving, and neither Delphi nor Simon Molinar will have any clue where you are."

"You're not from Delphi."

Will – if that was his name – shook his head. "No, I'm not from Delphi. I represent people who want to keep you safe, believe it or not. People who are willing to respect your choices."

"Which is why I'm sitting here under false pretences?" Joe's voice rose in anger.

That got him the smallest hint of a smile. "Some choices are more essential than others. What sort of choice do you think Molinar will offer you?"

"You're well-briefed."

"Yes, yes I am, Dr McKay. I know that you carry a variant gene that would enable Molinar to turn you into a vampire."

Joe leaned his head against the seat-back. "Now there's a concept that not too many people get to use in ordinary conversation."

"You'd be surprised what I have to consider in ordinary conversation."

"I bet." Joe swallowed, and looked out the windscreen at the mundane road ahead of them, the cars and their passengers all headed somewhere, weaving in and out amongst each other in complicated urban dance. "What sort of choices are _you_ offering me?"

"I can turn off when this lane permits and take you home again, and then I'll disappear. And you'll be back where you started, waiting for Delphi or Molinar to come knocking on your door, with Delphi worrying about who I was and deciding to pick you up even without Molinar. You'd be useful bait."

"Baaa!" Joe said mordantly. Staked out for Simon like a tethered goat. Fun. "Or I could run."

"You haven't done it yet. Do you think you'd be any good at it?" The question was calm and simple - a professional query, almost.

"I think I'd be crap at it. The med school curriculum, for some strange reason, didn't cover dropping out of sight to live as a fugitive."

"You can go back, or you can come with me. We can protect you, Dr McKay; we will. We can offer you work in your profession. And I can promise you that we have absolutely no desire to see you become what Molinar is."

"Oh, you can promise me, can you?"

"Yes, I can."

"And how do I know that you won't ensure my non-vampire status in a permanent way?"

A quiet sigh from the driver's side of the car: "Dr McKay, if that was our intention I could have set up a fake break-in and humanely shot you in your sleep weeks ago."

Joe flinched in his seat. "Fuck. You believe in putting your cards on the table, I'll give you that." He wiped a hand across his face, which was sweaty despite the comfortable temperature in the car. "Humanely," he murmured disbelievingly. More loudly he asked, "Who the hell is 'we', anyway?"

Will's face was serene as he guided the car through the traffic. "You get that information if you decide to come with me. Now. No going back to your apartment to collect your belongings. Joe McKay disappears, never to be seen again."

Joe huddled in the comfortable seat. "Just like that?"

The man sitting beside him nodded. "Just like that."

"You don't ask much, do you?"

"We never do know what will be asked of us." Will turned to him briefly; his face was grave, but there was a hint of a smile around his eyes. "It prevents complacency, at least."

"I don't know. I feel like I could do with a little complacency."

"Another time, maybe. Do I take you home or are you coming with me?"

Joe looked at his hands, clenched into fists in his lap. He'd known this was coming, known that _somebody_ would be coming. He should have run. He should have, and now it was too late.

"Hey." He tried to summon a smile, but it felt wrong on his face. "Take me on the magical mystery tour."

"Good." The scarred hand adjusted the gear stick, and it seemed to Joe that there was something relieved in Will's face. What if he'd said 'no'? Would there have been a break-in and a humane bullet through the head a few days or weeks down the line? Or would there just have been a knock on the door and someone else's black SUVs for him in the dark of the night? Better this way. Driving Californian freeways in a red Mustang with some good-looking, cool-and-collected secret agent guy? Hell, it nearly counted as an adventure.

They headed north after a while. "Not New Mexico, then," Joe said.

"No, Dr McKay, not New Mexico."

"We started out on first name terms. You can still call me Joe."

"Thank you."

Joe found himself fascinated by Will's speech pattern. There was something just a little over-formal about it, and Joe amused himself in this motorised limbo by speculating about why that should be. An exquisitely trained foreigner? An android, maybe, and he grinned at how ridiculous he was being. But when a man had seen a real vampire, he tended to expand his ideas of what was ridiculous. "What about you? Are you still Will?"

"William Shaw. You can call me Will if you want."

"Pleased to meet you, Will."

"Somehow I doubt that, Joe, but I can't fault your manners."

"Think of it as an extension of my bedside manner."

That produced a small but apparently genuine smile. "I'll do that. I know that you're probably hungry – "

"Can't say that I am right now. My professional opinion is shock," Joe replied. His voice was dryly controlled, but his legs felt kind of weird. It was good that he wasn't planning on doing anything except sit down.

"You'll be hungry later," was the response. "I know a place further along our way. Their food may not be quite as good as McCools, but it's edible."

They took a meandering route punctuated by a stop in the small hours for a meal somewhere north of San Francisco. Will was right, Joe thought. He was hungry now, although not quite hungry enough to scrape his plate clean. He watched Will eat. William Shaw; agent of - who? Will's hands were long-fingered and well-groomed, and he ate neatly and with concentration, despite the ugly marks on both sides of his right hand and, like Joe, left some food on his plate. Joe looked around him. It was moderately busy here despite the odd hour, truckers and travellers by the looks of it.

"Where are we going?" Joe asked.

Will looked up from his plate. "I'll tell you once we're in the car again."

"Why? Do the walls have ears?"

"I'm not expecting bugs." Will shrugged. "But you'll have questions, and some of the questions and some of the answers may sound odd to casual listeners. I don't want to be remembered."

"Fine. Then let's get on the road so I can ask my memorable questions. I want to know what I'm letting myself in for."

Will stood, gesturing that Joe should do the same. "As for what you're letting yourself in for, that will depend. We'll start with the basics and go from there."

It was dark outside. It had been dark for several hours now, and Joe looked up at the sky. It was cloudy, although the moon shone as a weak glow behind one skyward bank of grey. Assuming that Will was speaking the truth, nobody who mattered knew where Joe was right now. Not Delphi, not Joe's colleagues, not Detective Taylor – and especially not Simon Molinar.

***

It had been, William Shaw reflected, almost a vacation. The weeks establishing his persona in LA, and then driving Joe McKay cross-country over several days, made a welcome break to hunting down demonicos, and the fact that Will had found himself enjoying Joe's company had been a bonus. Joe had a profane mouth to him, but then Will had long accepted that he moved out of step with the secular world. All members of The Faith accepted that. The Faith had given him purpose and patience, and whatever else changed around him, he hadn't yet lost either of those qualities, even if he found that purpose had been forcibly redefined for him.

But for now, his purpose was dealing with Joe, answering his questions, rebutting arguments that arose from ignorance and fear, and introducing him to his new apartment.

"Well, at least it's not a monastic cell."

Will tilted his head and smiled, patient response to the challenge in Joe's voice. "No it's not. I thought I made it clear that you'd be living as normal a life as we can provide for you."

Joe stalked across the floor to look out the window. "How would I know what the Illuminati regard as normal?" he muttered.

"The Illuminati are based in another building across town, actually." It was an awkward, ponderous joke. Will was no good at them, but something in his voice must have made the intention clear, because Joe turned and grinned.

"You're a funny guy," he said in gently sarcastic tones.

No, I'm not, Will thought, I'm really, really not; but Joe didn't need to know that. "I try," he said instead.

"Yeah. How do I get around?"

"Second floor of this building is parking. You'll have access to a vehicle."

"Bet it's not a Mustang."

"I don't gamble." Will waited for the riposte, and Joe didn't disappoint him.

"I guess The Faith doesn't have a base in Atlantic City, then?"

It was becoming a game, and one that Will found himself enjoying. "New York has a far higher level of supernatural activity."

"Uh-huh." Joe decided not to push it any farther, returning to the more important issue. "So, car?"

Will reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a wallet and keys. "These are yours," he said and handed them to Joe. "There's a Subaru in the parking area. Bay 32. The licence number is written on a piece of paper behind the bills."

Joe was already counting the money, a wide-eyed expression on his face. "There's a grand in here." He lifted his head. "Relocation allowance?"

"That's one way to consider it. This apartment is paid for by The Faith, the cards in your wallet are valid, and your salary will be paid two-weekly."

"If this is being on the run, I like it."

"Welcome to your new life, Dr Warren."

"Yeah." Joe looked out the window again. Despite his earlier bravado, he looked depressed. Perhaps it was Will's use of his new surname. With a visible effort he shook off that mood. "It's after twelve. I'm not ready to go grocery shopping right now, and you're a local. Where does a guy eat in this neighbourhood?"

"There's a decent restaurant a couple of blocks down. We never did have that steak."

"Or that beer. Unless alcohol is a sin?" There was some sarcasm, but Will saw the genuine inquiry behind the question.

"Drunkenness is the sin, not alcohol itself."

"Great. And beer, not Kool-Aid. I may survive this gig after all."

There was an edge in Joe's voice at the mention of Kool-Aid and Will raised an eyebrow. "Why would Kool-Aid affect your survival chances?"

Joe looked slightly embarrassed. "Bad joke. At least I hope so."

The little steak house prepared its fries better than its steak, but still – it was food and it was tasty. The meal also marked the end of Will's current peace. He and Lilith would go on a hunt soon, and Will valued the mundane quiet to be found in this moment – a decent meal, a bright, comfortable room, a pleasant companion. Will was enjoying his meal, until his hand cramped and then shook, and his knife beat out in irritating chatter on his plate. He grunted, and looked at Joe in apology.

"Sorry."

Joe's face showed polite concern. "It's no problem. Nerve damage from that injury?" He gestured towards Will's hand.

"Something earlier. Although I guess the scar doesn't help."

"You're lucky to have the full use of it most of the time." Joe's look was entirely professional. "Gunshot?"

"Foreign object." Will wondered what Joe would say if he replied, "I put my hand in the way of a demon's filthy spiked tongue to protect someone I had every reason to wish dead." But then, as he'd said to Joe earlier, you never did know what might be asked of you. Will had eaten most of his food, anyway. He fumbled his knife down to the table, and dropped his hand into his lap. Out of sight, out of mind, except that it still hurt.

"That must have been one hell of a foreign object."

Will grinned broadly. "You could say that. Yes."

"That'll be some Illuminati trade secret, right? You could tell me but you'd have to kill me afterwards?" It was relaxed - a joke between friendly acquaintances. Will nodded.

"Exactly. Look, Joe, are you clear on everything? Your apartment, your job? You don't need any further explanations?"

"You've been very thorough." Curiosity crossed Joe's face, and something that Will's vanity suggested could be regret. "No more babysitting, huh?"

"I have to travel. For my work. You've seen how that goes."

"Yeah, that business in New Mexico is always looking to expand. I get you."

Will ignored the reference to his earlier deception. "I don't know when I'll be back. And when I am, no doubt you'll be settled into a routine. Colleagues. Friends."

"And how many of them will be The Faith keeping an eye on me?"

"A friendly eye."

Joe rubbed his knuckles nervously over his chin. "Yeah, sure. When you get back from the secret mission, look me up again." Will knew he looked surprised. "What? You're not that bad as company goes. Besides," Joe continued wryly, "you count as Doctor Warren's oldest friend."

"Thank you," Will said dryly. "I think." But he was pleased.

"You're welcome."

They stood to leave, and Will shook his head. "Be straight with me, Joe."

"What?" Joe looked up at him, worried for a moment.

"This invitation to look you up. It's my car, isn't it?"

Joe's eyes widened before he chuckled. "Definitely a funny guy."

***

Will was sorting his clothes when there was a quiet knock at the open door. Joe walked in, with a plastic carry-bag of books.

"I tried," was his opening remark, accompanied by a disarming smile. "I really tried, and I'm not saying that I didn't get some interesting insights from it all, but... He shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

"I take it I shouldn't be preparing for your baptism," Will said dryly.

"Got it in one," Joe said, placing the bag on Will's desk. The books tumbled inside the flimsy plastic, knocking over Connor's picture. "Hey, sorry about that," Joe said, righting the frame. He looked at it for a moment. "He was a nice-looking kid."

"Yes. Yes he was," Will said. Past tense in talking of Connor was easier than it used to be, but there was always an ache.

Joe grunted, a quiet, uncertain sound. "I can't imagine what that would be like. Losing a kid. Not that I'll ever get to find out." He smiled ruefully. "Had a vasectomy as soon as I could after Delphi fell apart."

"Ah."

"You disapprove?" Joe looked a touch hurt, and Will shook his head.

"No. It's understandable. It's just – ironic."

"Ironic?"

"Jen and I – I couldn't give her children. Connor was adopted."

Joe looked up at him, carefully sympathetic. "That must make it tough when she tells you about her new family."

Will shook his head. "I'm glad for her. She deserves it after what happened."

"Yeah." Joe's voice was quiet; there was warmth in the single word.

Will eyed the books on his desk, and considered Joe. "I used to wonder, if what happened to to Connor... I loved him but sometimes I'd still regret that he wasn't my natural son. When he... I had bad patches. Wondered if maybe his death wasn't some sort of punishment."

Joe's head shot up. He said gently, " You know that's bullshit, don't you?"

Will smiled. "Yes, Joe, I know it's bullshit."

"Because..." Joe soldiered on. "I'm pretty much a heathen, despite your best efforts," he gestured at the books, "but I can't believe that a God worth believing in or serving would play those kinds of games with you. You're a good man, Will, and I'll bet that you were a good father."

"Thank you." Will turned back to his laundry, feeling surprised that he'd admitted his doubts to Joe. But then Joe wasn't concerned for Will's soul, or worried that his doubts might reduce his usefulness to The Faith. There were no consequences to Will's past crisis of belief here, except that Joe appeared at his side and picked up and folded a t-shirt.

"Don't you guys ever get confused when you're all wearing basic black?" Joe asked, gentle still, but determinedly teasing. "I know it's hard-wearing and fits every occasion, but somebody must take the wrong load sometimes and then you have to arrange laundry exchange? Right?"

"Wrong," Will said, and grabbed a couple of hangers out of his closet. Behind him, Joe chuckled, and when Will turned back, he had to snag a balled-up pair of socks out of the air. Joe's aim really was quite good.

***  
Shaw was playing music on the car stereo, something gentle and melodic. Lilith wasn't foolish enough to believe it entirely secular, and close attention to the lyrics proved her right - a man sang, raw and softly urgent, "From desolation the angel hides me - a man becoming, after all."

Becoming what, she idly wondered. What was _she_ becoming now? She smiled. She was both too young and too old for adolescent identity crises but she seemed to persist in having them anyway.

"Something amusing?" Shaw asked.

"You have good peripheral vision for a man your age."

"No doubt. You haven't answered my question."

"Maybe that's because you don't answer mine."

Just like an adolescent with her father – but that wasn't a comparison she planned on making out loud to this man. Cruelties past had been born out of savagery and unthinking pain, and she'd hurt William Shaw enough in ignorance without knowingly striking at him.

"This is our fifth mission, Shaw."

He deigned to grace her with a quick glance before he turned his attention back to his driving. The singer on the stereo beseeched, "Be my guiding light, faith."

"Yes." A very small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Irritating, fascinating man.

"So I wish you'd tell my why you bother. I understand The Faith keeping tabs on their pet monster, but why you? This is a novice's job."

Shaw's face sobered. "You make dangerous assumptions."

"I prefer to think of them as warranted, myself. Like my curiosity."

"As you say, someone has to act as your supervisor."

Lilith kept back a giggle. Supervisor – as if Shaw was Jenny from the florist Lilith had worked at, when she was still Elle and ignorant of her past. But she wasn't ignorant of her past any longer, even if she couldn't truly believe in it, couldn't truly believe that the hands sitting in her lap, thrumming with the car's vibration, had ripped men and women and children apart in mindless despair and fury. The violence she had committed since coming to herself was quite different, and purposeful in nature.

"But why you?"

"It makes you uncomfortable?" He looked at her again, his voice challenging and uncompromising. 'Suck it up, little girl,' that voice said, which was an irony that Lilith put aside to consider another day.

"It seems cruel," Lilith said, the closest she could come right now to acknowledging the particular piece of past that lay between her and Shaw.

"If it is, it's by my own choice," Shaw said, answering one question at least.

"So why make that choice?" Lilith persisted.

Shaw shrugged, a frown marring his handsome face. The lines were always there; Shaw had done a lot of frowning in his forty-odd years of life.

"I was made a promise, and I want to see the working out of that promise." He sighed. "Presumptuous of me."

Lilith's eyebrows rose in surprise. Presumption wasn't something she associated with Shaw. "A promise to do with me?"

"The Prefect has the gift of prophecy, and a library at his command."

Lilith nodded. The Prefect was another man who roused irritation and fascination, although the flavour of it wasn't tinged with sex the way it was with Shaw. The Faith's leader had dropped hints to her of an unlikely future. She could imagine how Shaw might need similar encouragement to accept her presence, but she still couldn't quite believe that it would be enough to reconcile him to regularly being around her or seeking her out. The singer whispered, 'What's forgiveness for?', and irritation overcame her suddenly. 'Oh, shut up!' she thought distractedly, and then stared in chagrin as the player spat out the CD with an unpleasant burp of electronic static. The edges of the CD smoked gently.

"If you didn't like the music, you only had to say something," Shaw said resignedly. But his expression promised some completely unnecessary and nasty training exercises in her future; her immediate future that was, rather than the mistily glorious future promised by the Prefect, which she suspected that neither she or William Shaw quite believed in.

They drove on in silence for while, the streets around them dingy, the cars either old heaps held together with duct tape and string, or else opulent and ostentatiously purchased with the proceeds of crime. The doors of Shaw's own car were locked – and anyone who tried to approach them would be considerably surprised. Despite the occasional curious or envious expression, they passed without incident, until Shaw turned down streets that led to an alleyway ending in a chain-link fence, flanked with dank, forbidding brick walls and broken windows.

"This is supposed to be the place," Shaw said, getting out of the car, and opening the trunk to take out various deadly items in a business-like way.

Lilith stared around her, sniffing the air. She wasn't entirely sure that what she did was smelling, precisely, but it seemed to work that way. There was a something - a scent, a feeling, a familiarity that told her that he was right. "The cellar of that building there," she said, pointing. There was a window low to the ground, broken like most of the windows here but free of jagged fangs of glass.

Shaw nodded grimly. "I'll watch out here. That's their hatchway, I take it?"

Lilith grinned at him. "All that experience and you have to ask?"

"Perhaps you should just get on with it. The sooner we clean this nest out, the better."

"We should arrive in a van, not a sports car. With 'Exterminators' written on the side." Her voice was rueful, but there was excitement in her too, at the thought of what was soon to come. "I'm going to check out the surroundings."

"You do that," Shaw said. He stood alertly, with the car at his back, and an impressive looking gun in his hand that had been tooled in the workshops of The Faith, and prayed over and blessed so that Lilith could imagine it heavy with sanctity.

"I will," Lilith told him and made the change, more than something merely physical. She grew, in stature and power, her wings sprouting from her spine with a pleasure like the most satisfying stretch, the most thorough settling of an itch. They unfurled behind her, beating out a wind that raised tiny dust devils from the pavement. Lilith looked back at Shaw as she rose into the air, but he was impassive, unimpressed by the display. Lilith wasn't yet ready to feel blase about this, not even after nearly a year of it. The change was still thrilling, she was dark and light, darklight incarnate and she loved it.

The kunakephalos, minor demonicos as they were, sensed something. She heard a yip and a snarl, and as she rose to the level of the roof, she saw one. One soon to be dead, she thought in satisfaction, two more to go, and descended on it, even as it growled defiance and leapt at her, only to fall back with its spine broken. Its hands belied the dog-shaped head. They were dark and ape-like except for the talons, and the fingers twitched until she laid hands on the creature a second time and ended it.

There was the roar of Shaw's gun below. Lilith smiled in satisfaction. Let them go after Shaw; he was no-one's easy target, even if he was soft human flesh and bone. She listened. One more to go – would it be her prey or Shaw's? The roof-top door stood ajar and nearly off its hinges and, stooping, she descended into the building, which was trashed and stinking. There was water lying about in puddles here and there, stagnant and dirty, and the damp footprints of the demonicos that she'd killed showed nearly dry on the floor. There were no more gun blasts outside, and in here all was quiet except for her own footsteps and the occasional drip of water. She walked on, hearing the floor creak occasionally under her weight. She wondered how hard it would be to collapse this building – take out a support here, a beam there.

She found the last kunakephalos on the first floor. Some instinct made her lift her head to see it poised on a beam in what would have once been an entrance foyer. It jumped towards her and she held her arms out in a parody of welcome and crushed it to her chest while it scrabbled futilely against her, finally hanging limp and dead in her grasp. She threw it aside, barely even hearing the thump as it hit the wall, and looked for the closest way out of the building. Shaw would frown upon her damaging the building unnecessarily, but what she saw between the cracked boards that covered one window drove that thought from her mind.

"Shaw!" she shrieked, hurtling through boards and glass both, but she was too late. Kunakephalos formed triads – only ever triads, so why was there another of the creatures leaping with a snarl to land upon Shaw's shoulders? The two of them tumbled upon the ground, and she saw the wicked swipe across Shaw's gut before she plucked the creature from him with a taloned grip across the back of its neck. She squeezed, her jaw clenched in anger, while the kunakephalos danced in her hold, its jaws futilely snapping, foam beginning to blow about its mouth. Too long, it was taking too long to die, and she had other matters to deal with, so she broke its neck.

Shaw was curled on his side, one hand clutched to his abdomen, and Lilith knelt beside him. "Let me see, Shaw."

"Why?" he gritted out. "There's nothing you can do." The wounds weren't even that deep – the muscle wall was ripped but not all the way through. But all demonicos carried filth within them – that was she'd been taught by The Faith, and already the wound looked red and inflamed. Shaw was pale and sweating, and made no effort to rise, which meant that it was bad. "Told you that assumptions were dangerous," he muttered, grimly joking – or simply attempting one last lesson. She never knew with this man.

She had never held a human, never touched anything except to fight, in this form. Sparks and tiny touches of flame sputtered between her skin and his, but Shaw didn't seem to notice, although he groaned when she gathered him up and held him cradled like a child to her breast, while he scrabbled at his gut and sweat stood out on his forehead in great drops. "Hush," she murmured and then launched herself into the air. It was barely dark and entirely likely that she'd be seen, but that didn't matter. It was lucky that the triad – the accursed quad, rather - were local. She could swoop her way to the House, hoping that the cold and force of her flight wouldn't harm Shaw more than he could cope with, and that was what she did, while Shaw uncontrollably shivered in her grip.

She landed lightly on the roof, to be greeted by men dressed in the soutane, armed with guns – for all the good that would do them, unless their bullets were talos tipped.

"Kunakephalos wound," she announced, before transforming herself back to her human form, still cradling Shaw to herself, unwilling to let him go as she strode towards the entrance. They let her pass, one of the men speaking into a headset, and she carried Shaw to an elevator and looked at their reflection in the steel surface as it began its smooth, speedy journey downwards. Incongruous, strange – a tall, strong-looking man held like a child in the arms of a small, smooth-faced woman. Shaw's head was slumped against her shoulder, and the skin of his face was cold and clammy against her own. Odd twitches ran through his muscles. She bared her teeth at the reflection, as her eyes glowed orange, and another run of flame crossed her skin. Finally, the door opened to reveal medical staff and a gurney.

She laid Shaw down and stood back. She didn't know one of the men, although clearly he knew Shaw. He called out "Will?" in a cracked voice of surprise before stooping to his work. They had to waste precious moments restraining Shaw, who was starting to convulse.

She'd done what she could here. She turned away and returned to the roof.

"Uh, ma'am?" She knew this man – David Hendricks, a comparatively recent recruit and one that Shaw spoke well of.

"I have to go and get his car," she said. Hendricks looked startled and she shook her head. "There are weapons and equipment to be reclaimed," she said. His face cleared, although it shadowed over as she transformed once more. Let him see. It was good to remind them that she was more than the young woman she looked.

She flew back to where they had fought the demonicos, and perched on the same fire escape that the kunakephalos had attacked Shaw from, making herself smaller again, human seeming. There were two young men below, exclaiming over their luck at finding a sweet car _and_ weapons. They barely noticed the demonicos corpse, a crumpled shape with the dog-like muzzle more prominent than anything else. It would be dust soon enough.

"I'd leave the car alone if I was you," she said, aware that her voice would sound anything but threatening to them, and relishing their coming education.

They looked up at her, surprise turning to cockiness.

"Hey, sweet thing, what you doing up there?"

"Wanna come down and play?" the other asked.

"Don't mind if I do," Lilith said and jumped, to land lightly. "I want my car back – and my gear."

The taller of them, stocky and with a red bandanna wrapped across his head, laughed at that. "This is our stuff now, bitch. But if you want to take a ride with us..." He made an obscene gesture, and Lilith sighed in exasperation.

"I don't think so," she said. They were no challenge, no challenge at all, although their expressions when the smaller man clearly shot her in the shoulder had some mild entertainment value. She left them huddled against the dirty support of a pile of trash bags, and let the darklight heal the shoulder wound before she got in Shaw's car, and drove it back to the House, emotion fizzing in her blood. This bubbling anger, the delight in smashing her hand against human skin, would earn her reproach from Shaw or any other member of The Faith. Well, she didn't have to confess it then, did she? Anxiety overtook her then and she turned her arm over to look at the Marks of Dagoth on her wrist. Everything was as it ought to be. Still on the side of the angels, then, she thought, so far as she ever was, and eventually she guided Shaw's prized car into its bay in the House's parking area.

She was tired, she realised, which was odd. She slept less and less these days, all the better to spend her time living and aware, but now she could have crawled into bed and dragged the sheets over head and ignored the whole world. Instead, she dragged her body into the infirmary. They were still working on Shaw, but the noise and conversation seemed less urgent. She sat on a chair and leaned her head against the wall; she'd go when they came out and could say how he was. She shut her eyes, only for a minute, and then opened them in startled surprise, her head jerking up.

"Hey, I'm sorry."

There was a man looking down at her – one of the medical staff who'd worked on Shaw, the one who was presumably a friend by his familiar use of Shaw's name. Lilith blinked up at him, feeling dopey and stupid, as he stared down at her with concern as he took in the blood on her – none of it hers, except maybe for a smear or two on her shoulder, but he wasn't to know that.

"Why hasn't anyone looked at you?"

Lilith smiled, trying to be reassuring. Clearly he didn't know who or what she was, and she suspected that enlightening him without permission would be inappropriate.

"There's no need. None of this is mine. It's all Shaw's. He's my partner," she added in partial explanation. "How is he?"

The doctor looked both relieved and mildly bemused. "More knowledgeable heads than mine declare that he's doing okay. I can't really tell you more than that. Sorry." His 'sorry' sounded courteous and not unduly stressed, and Lilith decided to take the assurance that Shaw was safe for now at face-value. The man continued hovering by her, bright blue eyes assessing her. "How about you? How are you?"

She moved to stand, and he stood back to give her room. He was taller than her by no more than a couple of inches, and attractive with his wide cheekbones and big eyes, quite different to Shaw's sharp-boned good looks. "There's nothing wrong with me that a good shower and a change of clothes won't fix," she told him.

"There are showers here. I could ask a nurse to check on you, provide you with some scrubs."

Definitely new, and sweet in his ignorance.

"That won't be necessary. But thank you. Now that I know how Shaw is, I'll go, get out of your hair."

"If you're sure?" he questioned.

"I'm sure." Lilith hesitated a moment. "You called him Will. Do you count as a friend of his?"

He looked surprised, and perhaps a little shy at this question from a stranger. "I'd like to think so," he said.

"Good," she replied, and left.

Four days and several enquiries later she was back again, determined to do the proper thing, the human thing, and see how Shaw was, despite the nervous glances of a tall man with a shock of iron-grey hair whom she recognised as Dr Andreadis, the infirmary head. She brought no gift – Shaw didn't strike her as a man for flowers. She'd checked the ruined CD, but it was nothing she could replace at short notice, and so all she had was herself. That would have to do and she had no intention of imposing on Shaw for long.

Her attention was caught by the rise of conversation as she approached the door of Shaw's room.

"Ungrateful of you, especially after my efforts to pick out music that won't offend your religious sensibilities."

That made her pause. The voice was good-humoured; she'd found good humour in The Faith, even men and women with a sense of humour (and the Prefect was one of the more unexpected of those) but no-one was quite as cavalier as this man about matters of belief.

"I'm not ungrateful." Shaw's voice, a touch sheepish, but at base, just as good-humoured as the other man's. "But it's an expensive gift, Joe."

"No, it's not. I earn, a damn good salary by the way, and I bought bottom of the line because I knew I'd run the risk of offending you otherwise. For god's sake, Will, it's just a crappy little mp3 player with some music loaded on it. Take the thing. You must be dying of boredom in here."

She chose to let make herself known, stepping through the door into the room. Shaw was propped up in bed, dressed in what looked like scrubs, but he was still hooked up to a stand which dispensed various fluids. His face, which had been at ease in a way she seldom saw, became wary, but remained polite. He was pale, his beard dark against his skin even though he'd been shaved.

"Lilith," he greeted her.

The other man stood from his chair, and took a step or two towards her. "Hi. We've sort of met, haven't we? When you came back to ask after Will?"

"Yes, that's right." Shaw gave her an odd look, but she was too busy smiling back at his visitor.

He came closer, his hand extended. "I'm Joe, Joe Warren." He moved with quick grace, and his grip was warm and sure.

"Lilith."

Joe's eyebrow rose. "Just Lilith?"

She nodded. "Just Lilith."

"So, is that your secret code name or something?"

She laughed at that. "If you like."

"Another Illuminati secret agent type."

Shaw entered the conversation. "Pay him no mind, Lilith. He has an odd sense of humour."

"And when I came here to visit the sufferer," Joe replied. "First you try to refuse my get-well present and then you insult me." But he looked entertained rather than offended. "I'll get you another chair," he offered Lilith.

She nodded and then looked at Shaw. "How are you?"

"Alive," he answered. "It's a considerable surprise to everyone."

"A good one, I hope," she said.

"I can't complain."

Joe provided a chair for Lilith with a small flourish before he sat back down again himself and turned to Shaw. "I can recharge that for you if I'm here, or else you can ask Lin Dyson to do it for you."

Shaw's hand touched the player, fingers resting lightly on it. "Yes. Thank you."

"No problem. It's the least I can do when you've helped extend my medical knowledge." Joe's voice was amused.

"You're new to The Faith's service?" Lilith asked. Now that she was here, she realised she had no idea what to say to Shaw, and Joe Warren and his frank, friendly face was a welcome diversion.

"Just over," he paused for thought, "six months now. That's six months working, that is. It must be closer to seven months if you count my recruitment and orientation." He grinned at Shaw, who rolled his eyes. She was overcome with a sudden, deep jealousy of this man, who seemed so at ease with Shaw. She was at ease with no-one, least of all in The Faith.

"Shaw was persuasive, was he?" she said, a mild bite in her voice that had no business there.

"You could say that," Joe said, still friendly, but aware that he'd stepped onto dangerous ground, somehow.

"I don't need to be persuasive," Shaw said. "Most people see the way they should go."

Lilith wasn't so sure of that, and she shrugged, aware that she'd been very close to being rude to a stranger, and Shaw's friend at that. Shaw cleared his throat.

"Thank you. Being alive might be a surprise, but it _is_ a good one."

"You're welcome." She dived into the only safe conversation she could think of. "I brought your car back, safe and sound. I did have to deal with two civilians, however."

"Not in any way that will bring problems, I trust?"

She smiled. "Two big bad gangsta boys had their asses handed to them by a little girl. Nothing more than that."

"That would be enough, surely?" Joe said, his eyes bright and impressed.

Shaw permitted himself the indulgence of a small smile. "Lilith is tougher than she looks." He shifted, and Lilith saw a flash of pain cross his face.

"Just as well, Joe said. "You and that car - it's like a love affair. Be a shame for it to end in a chop shop." The atmosphere had changed slightly – Joe, Lilith understood, was consciously carrying the conversation, no doubt sensing the undercurrents even if he didn't understand them. She wondered what he knew of her, of her history with Shaw.

"I won't stay," she said. "You're still tired, I can see that." She stood, as did Joe. "Nice to meet you. _Doctor_ Warren?"

"That's right, but call me Joe."

"I'll remember," she said, before she turned to the man in the bed. "Get better soon, Shaw."

He looked at her then, piercing blue eyes looking underneath her stilted manners and seeing – what?

"I will. Thank you for visiting, Lilith."

She fled: to her studies at first, and then to a review of the mission. That done, she made her way to the library. The gospel music that played softly in the background confirmed that Peter Hibbert was there, and Lilith listened to the rich choral harmonies with considerable pleasure. She liked Peter's music better than Shaw's.

"Hey." Peter smiled at her. "Come to tell me all about that quad of kunakephalos?"

"Yes, that's right." She endured a friendly grilling from him, until he answered a phone call. His face changed but he looked calm enough as he advised her that she would have a meeting with senior faith officials the next morning.

"Why?"

He was nervous underneath the blandness. "Further review of what happened with you and Shaw." He indicated his laptop, which had suffered frantic typing while Lilith recounted what happened. "What happened wasn't the usual."

"And what is the usual for us, Peter?" she asked.

She flew that night, swooping over buildings and streets while the wind brushed her skin, and was nearly calm in the morning as she dressed in the soutane and smoothed out the fabric.

It looked more like a tribunal than a meeting. Three men of The Faith sat in judgement – the Prefect, and Peter Hibbert, uncomfortable and guilty-looking, and James Conroy, whom she barely knew, but knew well enough to be sure that he didn't like her. She'd only just seated herself when Conroy demanded, "What did you do to Shaw?"

She stared blank-faced. "What....I didn't do anything to Shaw."

Conroy opened his mouth, but the Prefect raised his hand and looked instead to Hibbert, who shuffled his feet under the table before he spoke.

"Normally, _normally_, a kunakephalos wound is fatal. They're minor as demonicos go, but really, very dangerous in terms of contact and wounds. And even allowing for your prompt action in bringing Shaw to medical attention..." His voice trailed away.

"We would have expected to have lost him," the Prefect said. "We're glad that we didn't but still. You see our confusion." He smiled, gentle and inscrutable.

"I didn't do anything," Lilith said, but she remembered how tired she'd been after she'd delivered Shaw to the infirmary; there had been the literal fire that had sparked between her skin and Shaw's. She'd spent this last night riding the air, and she wasn't tired now, unless of suspicion. She couldn't blame them, she supposed. She had a history, except that wasn't her history at all, not the person she was now, and resentment stirred.

Conroy's jowly, hound-dog face was frozen in an unconvinced expression, ready to sniff out anything that might be to her disadvantage.

"Men die of kunakephalos poison," he said. "The only thing different about Shaw's situation is that he was with you."

She raised her hands in a gesture of ignorance. "I can't help you. Maybe I did do something – if you believe that I must have. But if that's the case, I don't know what I did, I don't understand it. I'm just glad that Shaw is alive. As you are," she added sweetly.

"Yes, indeed we are," the Prefect said blandly, but with a look in his eye that suggested that he was dealing with a surprise. "Thank you. We won't keep you any longer."

She rose from her hard chair, feeling the stares of all three men between her shoulders and went back to her room and stripped off the soutane to drop it crumpled and neglected on the bed. Then she put on her jeans and her tank-top and her bike jacket, and felt more herself. She couldn't fly the skies, not in daylight, but she could ride her bike.

The elevator she was in pinged to a halt before it reached the garage level, and Joe Warren stepped in. A pleasant smile crossed his face – a little shy, a little appreciative.

"Good morning."

"I wish I could agree with you," she replied, and then damned her lack of discretion.

"Bad day already?" Joe looked at his watch, his eyebrows lifting. "And it's still early." Teasing, but a very gentle teasing, and Lilith smiled.

"The powers that be are questioning my handling of Shaw and his injuries." Handling – now there was a word that spoke the truth.

"Tough meeting?" Joe enquired.

Lilith shook her head, and tried to gather perspective. "Not so very much, I guess." The doors opened. "This is my floor."

"Okay."

Lilith paused a moment. She had the impression that Joe was about to say something more, and she wasn't mistaken.

"If you're on business, I'll understand, but this is a day off, and I was heading out for a late breakfast. If you'd care to join me? My treat, even, since I've sprung this on you." He was very handsome standing there, the touch of flush on his cheeks playing up the blue of his eyes, and Lilith nodded.

"Yes. Why not? It'd be nice."

"Great." He grinned, clearly pleased with the result of his overtures, and Lilith felt something in her ease to warmth at the normality of the interaction, at the pleasure of the flattery of his interest. She smiled to herself, amused. Normality wasn't an obvious concept as applied to her; but three years as Elle had made her occasionally want it anyway. Given that this man had been recruited to The Faith, she doubted that normality was the order of his day either.

"Where would you like to go?" Joe asked. "Walking or driving distance?"

"Oh, walking, I think."

He cocked his head towards her. "Walking it is."

"I guess I don't need this floor after all. My bike can wait another day."

"You ride?" Joe asked, one long, square-tipped finger jabbing at elevator buttons.

"Closest thing to flying on the ground."

"And I suppose you do that too? Fly, I mean." He sounded a little doubtful, although it was clear that he was thinking of Lilith flying a plane rather than taking to the air under her own power.

"You're not a thrill-seeker, then?"

"It depends on the thrill in question," Joe said, deadpan, low key, but absolutely sexual as he responded to the flirtation in her voice. He averted his face for a moment, perhaps worried that he was coming on too strongly. "I'm a doctor. I did my stint in an ER like every other intern." He shrugged apologetically. "It tends to put you off motorbikes."

"I'm careful," Lilith assured him. "Besides, didn't Shaw tell you that I'm tougher than I look?"

"Guess that he did. Poor bored bastard." The doors opened, and Joe extended one hand in the direction of the building exit. "Unlike Will, the outside world awaits us. After you."

The glass doors showed a bright, sunshine world past the washed-out fluorescence of the lobby. "Don't mind if I do," Lilith said, and stepped out under a sky that was no bluer than Joe's eyes.

***

"Lilith and I are going out together." Joe had clearly been nervous about his news, nervous enough to wait until Will was underneath his car wrestling with a socket wrench. Oil change time, and Will enjoyed doing it himself.

"So I've been told." Will stared up at the underneath of his vehicle and concentrated on his work. He'd been told, all right. Joe's status in the Faith was a source of some concern. He was within, but not of the Faith, and his relationship with Lilith deeply worried those who preferred that the Faith's secrets stayed secret. Will had already been asked to speak to Lilith about discretion. He had done so, but he also found himself under considerable pressure to move from being Joe's friend to being Joe's handler. It was a shift he found himself unwilling to undertake.

"People talk, I guess," Joe said.

"Far too much, on occasion." The nut shouldn't be so hard to loosen. Will must have been distracted last time he did this, tightened everything up too much. Sometimes his hand bothered him more than it ought to.

"Are you going to have a problem with it?"

"Why should I?"

He couldn't see Joe, but familiarity with his friend's gestures meant that Will knew that he'd just shaken his head.

"You work with her. A lot."

"I work with her. I'm not her father." He'd passed himself off as her father once, and Lilith, demure and baby-faced in a pale-blue sweater and jeans, had been far too amused by the circumstances. Not that he could blame her for looking for amusement where she could. There'd been little else to be amused about on that mission.

"Yeah. That, I know."

Will took stock of Joe's tone, which mixed admiration and irritation, and suppressed irritation of his own and some bitter amusement. "Your field is clear, Joe. Lilith is a colleague, that's all."

Joe pushed himself off the concrete pillar where he'd been leaning, his sneaker-clad feet moving closer to the car. "Colleague?"

"Comrade if you like."

"Not friend?"

"Pass me that container will you?" Joe stooped to slide the small plastic bucket within reach of Will's hand, and Will undid the bolt with a final twist, shifted the filter and twitched the bucket into position to catch the oil flow. Then he slid himself out from under the car, and grabbed the packet of wipes he used to at least make a start on cleaning his hands. "That'll take an hour or so to drain properly."

"I can offer beer," Joe said.

"Nectar."

"Corona, actually." Joe gazed at Will, trouble and curiosity lurking in his eyes. "Colleague. That's kind of cold – don't you think?"

"Comrade," Will corrected. "We fight together. It makes an important bond, but that doesn't make it more than it is. I'm not going to pine if you and Lilith are – friends." He swallowed. He fought beside Lilith, worked with her, had forgiven her, more than he'd forgiven himself even, and there was an odd swell of jealousy in him at Joe's information; he didn't know if it was for Lilith or for his friend. But then, Jen had sent him a small card recently, her tidy handwriting concisely informing him of her doings and the childish achievements of her son, and he'd been reminded again that he missed her. He missed her warmth in his bed, and her quiet support in his doubts.

Beer wasn't quite a replacement for those things, but it would have to do, and the fact that other people had someone to warm their beds and their nights was something that he should dismiss from his thoughts. Joe had a right to live his life as he chose. So did Lilith. That slightly hollow, left-behind feeling in his chest was foolish.

***

Two adult people canoodling like hormonal teenagers was not in itself a sin, and certainly shouldn't incite such a level of irritation in another adult; or, for that matter, quiet panic in an institution of other adults. Will sourly observed the canoodling from the enclosure of an easy chair and rubbed his thumb over the condensation of his beer bottle, watching the frost of moisture melt and smear under his hands. Some gentle, pecking kisses, some remarkably goofy grins shouldn't be putting him so on edge. But Will was finding this evening remarkably trying, nonetheless. He enjoyed spending time with Joe more when Lilith wasn't present.

The Faith had chosen to let Lilith go free in the world. They'd left her under Abe's care, and Abe, God rest him, had shared some of the Prefect's remarkably liberal views. That Lilith had sexually known men before her understanding returned was a matter of record, and it hadn't bothered Will until one of the men of record was his friend. Joe pulled Lilith onto his lap, and she sat there with her hand gentle across his nape, those hands that could (and had) torn living beings limb from limb. Joe's eyes were bright, and his hands rested with possessive care upon her waist as if Lilith, of all beings, was breakable, fragile; mere human flesh.

"You two are certainly getting cosy." It came out of Will's mouth with clipped precision, the words an almost echo of Conroy's, who was unknown to Joe as a member of The Faith but took an interest in him still. Unfinished business, after all.

"What?" The silly pleasure on Joe's face faded into confusion. Lilith's face became stern and gently she extricated herself from Joe's embrace and stood.

"Shaw." Her gaze, dark, all doe-eyed innocence, rested on him.

"I'm presuming that you're both remembering appropriate professional decorum." Will stood, knowing that he was stepping outside bounds – the bounds of the enquiries that he'd been told to make, the bounds of his friendship with Joe, his mentoring of Lilith. He looked past Lilith to Joe, who was red-faced with growing anger. Will had said hardly anything, but that didn't matter. Joe knew anger and contempt undeserved when they were thrown at him. "Not too much pillow talk, I hope." It came out embarrassingly bitter.

"What the fuck is your problem, Will?" They were all three of them on their feet now. Joe's face was wounded. Lilith – Lilith looked angry too, but there was something knowingly compassionate in her face when she caught Will's eye. "I thought that we'd had this conversation..."

"Not this one." Will snapped. "This is the one where I wonder if a lack of discretion in one area reflects a lack of discretion in another."

Joe looked at Lilith and turned towards Will, confused anger all over his face. "Is this one of those Illuminati things?" he said scornfully. "You don't need to worry, she's not telling me sacred secrets."

"Sacred isn't the word I'd use," Will bit out. He was aghast at his lack of control, and humiliatingly aware that he was making a prize fool out of himself. But Connor would have been sixteen two weeks ago, and Will would never have the chance to stare disapprovingly while he sat on a chair with a pretty girl perched on his lap. "Why don't I leave you two lovebirds alone?" He headed for the door with a scarlet face, and hoped that the other two would take it as anger rather than shame, and made it out the door before he heard Joe behind him.

"Will! Wait up." It was a command, and Shaw turned, grateful that he was taller than Joe. His morale needed whatever pathetic support that it could get. "What is it with you?" Joe's voice was low, but anger growled out of him all the same. "You _told_ me....or is this some religious thing? Worried about all that sex going on, are you? Just be grateful, Will. It could have been worse. At least I'm in a relationship with a woman this time round."

Will's mouth dropped open. Joe lifted his chin, clearly regretting the blurted revelation, but too stubborn to offer any retraction or explanation. "Did you miss that one on the files you stole from Delphi? Or maybe they just didn't care. Too bad if _you_ do." The colour in Joe's face gave the lie to that, but he turned away and headed back to his apartment, his back rigid with ire.

Shaw went to his spartan room in the House. He'd had a real house with Jen, a real home, but there'd been the need to legally divide their property, and it had been easier to let her take what she wanted of the personal things and sell and dispose of the rest. Jen had been scrupulously fair about it, but he hadn't cared. Hadn't that been the issue between them after Connor died? That not much had mattered, except the hunt for Lilith? And now he might sometimes almost like Connor's killer, certainly might sympathise with her and trust her to one degree and another, might sit in the same room and watch her happy.

Might sit in his own room. and hear the knock on his door, and know who it was. He took a moment to ensure the calm of his face, and went to open the door.

"Lilith."

"Shaw. May I come in?"

He gestured assent. "Please."

She entered, holding herself straight, but her face was less stern than her posture.

Will turned away from her and sat in the chair by his desk. "I'm not usually that stupid. I'm sorry."

"I won't pretend that I'm not pissed off with you, but I think I understand. A little at least."

Shaw didn't look at her. Instead, he stared at the floor and the weave of the carpet.

Lilith continued, her voice thoughtful. "They ask you to take a lot of risks on their behalf. And don't tell me that it's your duty. Don't they ever worry that I might bring this place down on top of them?"

"Many of us, and often," Will said, taking exception to the way her words excised him from the Faith. "Except maybe for the Prefect."

"He's very sure of me," she said bitterly. "And you?"

"You owe us." For so many things, not even including Connor.

"Yes." Lilith sounded tired. "And that seems to mean something to me now. We've had these discussions in theory. Tell whoever wants to know that I understand them. Joe won't be told anything that he's not supposed to know. And you can tell them that I appreciate the freedom that The Faith gives me."

The word 'freedom' sounded cynical, and anger lifted hotly in Will's chest - lifetimes of loyalty and loss were dismissed in her tone.

She must have seen it in his face. "Shaw...." It was sighed. Sad. "I know that The Faith has made sacrifices for me to be what I am now. I know that I owe people, that I owe _you_ for what I did. But that wasn't me _now_. I know that I have to - atone. But..." She stared at him. "I'm human, aren't I? On one level. If we're to believe The Faith, I'm the ultimate human – touched directly by the hand of God. That's so, isn't it?"

Will could say nothing. He managed one awkward nod of his head. The debates, the raging arguments contained in that question of what Lilith was, had sometimes threatened to consume The Faith's hard-won unity. And the freedom that The Faith had offered Lilith included the freedom to believe or not believe the tenets passed down through hundreds of years. So far, she chose to question.

She came very close to him and closed one delicate hand over his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her body, smell her, and a tiny shudder passed through him. "Then let me be human. Let me have Joe – or not have him if it doesn't work out, and you end up helping him pick up the pieces.."

Will stood, needing to escape as the ground shifted under his feet. This wasn't a plea to Will as Lilith's colleague, as her supervisor or mentor, as an intermediary between her and ministers of The Faith. This was something else. Her hand was gone from him but she stood too close to him as he looked down into her face. She looked up at him, huge-eyed and fresh-faced - and ancient beyond telling, and wanting things from him that he didn't at all know how to give.

"All right."

Her hand grasped his upper arm and pressed – into his skin, into his blood it seemed. What had The Faith done when it paired him with her, when it demanded that he put aside rage and grief and something perilously close to despair?

Lilith smiled. "Thank you."

"Be gentle with him," Will said. It was half joke, half command.

"Don't worry. I know my own strength. You taught me that."

"Not quite what I meant."

"I know. But perhaps you should be gentle, as well. It's not his fault that he's not truly of The Faith."

Clearly not, given an open admission of bisexuality. "Neither are you. It's one of your _freedoms_."

"And I'm grateful," she said stiffly. Pride. Oldest of the sins, and hers especially. "But if I can't tell Joe certain things, then you can't blame him for not getting -" her hands waved in frustration, " –certain undercurrents."

"As you say. I'll apologise to him." And that would be embarrassing, but no more so than he deserved.

"Yes." She stared at him. "Shaw?"

"What?" It took self-control to make it a simple, mildly-expressed question.

"Can I explain a little about Connor?"

Will's face turned cold.

"Not the full explanation – but if he knows something at least – he's pretty angry with you. If I tell him... that Connor died through my fault... it would help, I think. No more than that." Her gaze sharpened. "He does know about Connor?"

"The basics have come up in conversation."

"That's something. It's nice that one of us doesn't have so many secrets from him."

Will ignored the sarcasm. "He has secrets of his own." He looked at her closely, trying to gauge how much Joe might have told her. The Faith expected Joe to maintain confidentiality about Molinar, as much because of the source of The Faith's knowledge as anything, but Will knew how confidentiality could be extended when you wanted to offer trust, or to vent anger or anxiety. If he blurted out to her that Joe had slept with men, just the way that Joe had blurted it to him, would she be shocked, or would she simply shake her head and say that she already knew?

Will remained silent, and Lilith simply smiled. "We're all bound by our secrets then. He's – oddly – comfortable with the concept of The Faith's mission, and with the idea that I'm maybe not quite normal. It's not hard to guess that he's met some sort of demonicos." She looked away a moment before returning her gaze to Will's face. "He talks in his sleep sometimes. Calls to someone called Simon."

"Bound by our secrets. Your words." The Faith didn't want Lilith involved with the hunt for Molinar. The legend of Lilith's origin had it that she had refused to sexually submit to the husband that God had chosen for her (and the arguments within the Faith as to exactly how that should be interpreted for the twenty-first century had been sharp.) It made some members of the Faith, especially Conroy, uneasy about involving Lilith in a hunt for a man who was a sexual predator as much as he was driven by the need for blood. It mixed too many uncomfortable issues together, and Will found himself suddenly impatient with it all.

"If he wants to talk to you – you don't have to discourage him." Her face clouded with anger, and Will held up a placating hand. "I don't mean that you have to spy on him. We know it all, anyway. I'm just saying..." He stood there, poised uncomfortably between duty and friendship. "You're trustworthy, I know that."

"You might know that but not all the hierarchy seems to accept it, do they?"

Will held up both hands in a gesture of 'enough'. He'd said too much for one night, and he was _not_ going to justify The Faith's methods to Lilith right now. "Go and talk to Joe, and tell him whatever you want." It was reckless; it would be so easy for her to misinterpret him or to understand him perfectly well but still take it as an excuse for any confession.

Lilith looked past him for a moment. There was that one picture of Connor on his desk – it was small, nothing ostentatious, but she gazed at it just long enough that he stepped sideways to block her view.

"I'll do that. Good night, Shaw."

She was gone and Will turned back to his desk. They'd been going to watch football together this evening, he and Joe and Lilith. There was a small tv set in the corner of his room, but it held no appeal. He had work to do; there was always work. But before he began, Will opened a drawer and took out the Bible that was there. He didn't open it. Instead, he dropped into his chair and sat there, pressing the weight of the book against his gut, head bowed in confusion, before he laid the Bible safely back in the drawer and tried to do something useful.

He slept later, restless enough that he remembered one dream, no more than a flash of memory. The flash of orange eyes that signalled Lilith harnessing her power, a man's pale, broad shoulders; and he felt as ashamedly voyeuristic as if he truly had spied on them.

***

"Have you ever made a mistake that made you want to die?" That was what Lilith had asked him and Joe had tightened the arm that held her warm against his chest and said 'yes'. She'd told him a little, not a lot, and he'd done the same, told her that he'd done something that he'd known was wrong, had gone off on a long musing tangent about what the Milgram and Stanford Prison experiments said about human nature. He'd kissed her temple, and said that he appreciated the way she'd brought this up to explain why Will had been such an ass, and that it made a difference that she hadn't known what she was doing when a little boy died because of her. Insane killer, as compared to a sane torturer? No contest.

Then they'd gone to bed, and he'd marked out her skin with kisses and the grasp of his hands. No professional boundaries there, no secrets. But he had bad dreams for the rest of the week, where he strapped down Lilith, and Will; old school friends; and his mother too, who was long dead now, and drew squares on their arms with magic marker and then used X-ray eyes to burn them in precise chessboard patterned squares. Weird, horrible dreams, that made him wake up feeling sick, and wish for someone to be there. Right now, though, he and Lilith seemed to be keeping their distance from each other.

***

When Joe walked into the meeting room and saw Conroy, his first thought was that everything was a lie and that he'd been in Delphi's hands all along. He turned to Will in furious betrayal, ready to punch Will's classic nose into the back of his skull, but Will laid one steadying hand on his shoulder and said, "Stay calm, and listen to what we have to say, Joe."

"Why? Why the hell should I do that? What's going on?"

Will gestured, his face calm, friendly, even. "Just sit down. Nobody's lied to you, I promise."

Joe flopped down into a chair, his legs suddenly weak, his heart thumping hard in his chest. The Faith was finally going after Simon, that much he was sure of, but seeing Conroy added a whole new dimension of fear.

"Dr McKay." Conroy was as woodenly inscrutable as ever.

"I'm Joe Warren now."

"To Simon Molinar, you're Joseph McKay."

"I know."

There was a brief silence, before Conroy picked up a small remote and started a slide presentation. Joe nearly burst out laughing. The shiny technology and the bright colours on the wall – what did that have to do with vampires?

"I was the director of Delphi, but my first loyalty was to The Faith, always, Dr Warren." Conroy placed a small, somehow derisory emphasis on Joe's new name. "Agent Shaw's explanations to you were entirely true - we're not interested in seeing you turned. What we are interested in is stopping Simon Molinar."

There was a map on the screen, some PowerPoint effect unfolding it in sections. It seemed quite surreal to Joe, a vision as detached from reality as the wildest night time dream.

"The Faith has agents and sympathisers in several law enforcement agencies, and we've been paying careful attention to crime news in the media."

Joe stared at the pretty colours and movement "You think that you've found Simon."

"Yes. He's working a circuit through several Mid-west cities right now. We have a confirmed sighting of him at a rather specialised club."

"The sacrifices you people have to make."

"Joe." Will's voice, quietly admonishing.

There was a pause, before Conroy continued. "We believe that we can use the club as a point of contact, and feed Molinar misinformation..."

"Misinformation. You mean lies."

Conroy's voice sharpened. "Molinar is still killing. Women. A few men, but women mainly. Don't you want him caught?"

Joe thought of Leroy Smith, the way that the man had pleaded for answers about what happened to his daughter. "Of course I want him caught! But I'm not interested in playing the ends justify the means. I'd have thought that someone of your high moral standards would get that."

A dull flush spread across Conroy's skin. "Molinar is a vampire. He has to be stopped. And you've found the ends to justify the means in the past."

Joe pressed his hands, which had clenched into fists, hard against the tabletop. He stared at them, at the white of the knuckles and redness of his curled index fingers, before he looked up again. "Is 'stopped' a euphemism for 'killed'?"

Will spoke then. "If necessary."

"What if it wasn't necessary? You want me to be bait, don't you?" Joe addressed himself to Will, rather than Conroy. "Simon's not stupid. What if The Faith was prepared to give him the chance that Delphi wasn't? You have doctors, hospitals of your own. Maybe, if Simon had the option, he wouldn't need to kill." He looked at Conroy with some difficulty, his dislike of the man was so strong in that instant. "You've given other people second chances."

Conroy drew in his breath sharply enough that he began to cough, but he recovered quickly.

"Dr Warren, I don't know what you think you know, but I can assure you, the circumstances with Molinar are completely different to any others." Conroy rose from his chair, and glared down at Joe. "Molinar's left a trail of dead women behind him – but there are gaps in the record, where either he's very subtle or he doesn't need to kill at all. Los Angeles is the last time he left an obvious trail of dead prostitutes behind him – Chloe Martin included."

Joe felt a lift of nausea in his gut. "I know..."

"Molinar's been a rich man often in his life – we have records that may trace him back three hundred years – did you know that, Doctor Warren? And in all that time, the one impression I have of him is that he very much likes what he does. Like you or I with a good steak – and all the arguments of the vegetarian lobby haven't persuaded me to give up my steak, Doctor Warren." Conroy emphasised Joe's title in a way that made Joe burn. "Molinar could have found himself a pet medico to provide him with blood supplies a generation – two generations ago! Instead, he's still killing women, and frequenting decadent, godless places to get his fix. He is an abomination, and we will stop him." Conroy was red in the face, and the detached medical observer in Joe wondered what his blood pressure might be like. "You owe us, Doctor Warren, and we would _appreciate_ your co-operation."

"I still feel that we should at least consider the option of offering Simon a chance," Joe said doggedly.

Conroy contained whatever he would have said with a visible effort. Instead, he looked at Will. "Agent Shaw. I will leave you to speak with Doctor Warren. Please report to me the results of your deliberations." Then he left, the slides from the projector a brief melange of colour on his skin, his shadow dark on the wall for just a moment, before the door shut with a forcible bang.

There was silence. "Okay," Joe said. "That went well." He was afraid to look at Will, in case he saw the same condemnation on Will's face that he saw on Conroy's. Anger stirred in him, but when he looked up, Will looked grave, but not particularly angry. A little regretful, maybe.

"Joe." Will's voice was gentle. "Who do you want redemption for? Molinar, or yourself?"

Joe pushed his chair back and sprang up, needing the emotional defence of being on his feet against this quiet question far more than he'd needed it against Conroy's choler. "It's not that simple!" he protested. "And come on! You guys are supposed to be all about the forgiveness, right? Or is it just the Old Testament vengeance? I'm not downplaying that Simon is dangerous. I know exactly how dangerous he is. But , god..." Joe scrubbed his hands across his face. "I don't like playing Judas Goat, Will."

Another thought struck him. "What Lilith told me, about your son." Will's face became that of a graven image. "Does the whole Faith know that? Does Conroy know that? I'm not trying to score a point here, I really want to know. What's the difference?"

Something hardened in Will's face. "You know the difference, and you're being disingenuous. What Lilith did..." He paused. Swallowed. Joe hated himself, but he had to follow this through. "She wasn't in her right mind. She didn't – take pleasure in it." Joe would have protested, and Will held up a hand, a stern prophet laying down the law. "Molinar does take pleasure in it. Whatever the necessity he faces, he's in his right mind, so far as any being that far removed from humanity can be. It's _different_, Joe." It was a plea.

"It's different because we know Lilith. I know Simon too, Will."

"It's not the same." Will remained sitting, like a judge. No pacing about the floor for him; instead, there was measured stillness. "The Faith had to make a choice about Lilith." His face turned to Joe, but his eyes looked somewhere else. "She was – healed, but at a cost. You've seen the scars on her arm, the Marks of Dagoth. They cost five years off the lifespan of every man who took part in the ceremony, and we brought her halfway back. The rest of the journey is her responsibility now."

Joe stared uneasily. He'd accustomed himself to the idea that Simon and Lilith, (beautiful Lilith) were something outside of known science, but still understandable within everything he knew, and hearing Will talk so casually about what amounted to magic disturbed him deeply.

"Did you take part in the ceremony?"

Will smiled ruefully. "No. No-one asked that of me. But the Prefect took part, led by example, and there were other good men. Seven of them."

"That's a nice mystical number." Joe tried to wipe the sneer from his face and his voice. "Conroy?"

Will shook his head.

The anger, and the energy it brought with it, was draining away into confusion. Joe sat down heavily. Instead of anger, there was a hard, hot ball of resentment in his chest, and his eyes burned, felt hot and scratchy.

"This all works out to a hunting we will go, though. Doesn't it? What happens if I refuse? Kicked out on my ass?"

"No."

"Because I know too much now?"

"You'd certainly remain within The Faith's protection until Molinar was neutralised."

"Fuck, Will, do not use the secret agent speak right now. Until Simon's killed. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

Will looked stern again. "It would be foolish of us to take the risk of another vampire being created."

"Yes," Joe said dully. "That would be kind of stupid of you."

"We'll have a better chance of your co-operation if this operation isn't a death sentence for Molinar." It was a statement.

Joe grunted, a low, bitter noise. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I'll present that information." Will stood, and then came closer to Joe and rested a hand upon Joe's shoulder. The grip was solid and comforting, and a rare physical gesture from Will, who was generally a very contained man. "I can't promise anything. But I'll try."

"Try hard, Will."

The hand lifted, and Joe felt paradoxically the heavier for it.

"You need to work this out for yourself, Joe. Molinar's not someone you can afford to be confused about."

"We're not all blessed with your sense of religious certainty." Joe regretted that as soon as it was spoken, and turned to look up at Will. It was especially ungracious given Will's low-key response to their recent spat. He didn't imagine that there were many acknowledged bisexuals amongst The Faith. "Hey. I'm sorry. But..." His hands moved restlessly.

Will smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Smiles seldom did, Joe had noted. "I'm not so blessed with certainty as you might think."

"If you say so." Joe found that hard to believe. Straight after Connor's death, perhaps, but now? "What time frame are we looking at here?"

"Hard to say. It might take only a couple of weeks, a month. Or it could take months. A long time to be on tenterhooks, I know, but we can't afford to make mistakes."

"No. I guess not." Joe wiped his palms across his face. "You're here to back up the pretty slideshow. Are you going to be working the operation?" The word 'operation' twisted out of Joe's mouth like a snake.

"Yes." Will had sat down again, a quiet presence in the dark clothes that members of The Faith favoured; he was priestly in them, a remorseless, handsome saint.

"I always had the impression that you were pretty competent. I'm going to see that in action, am I?"

"Not too much action, I trust."

"Yeah. So do I."

***

Joe had been strumming on his guitar, with a whole heap of vigour but little purpose, for a while now and his fingers were sore. He'd given Lilith a key, and a quick knock and the click of the lock was all the warning he had before she strode into his living room.

"Shaw told me that you and I could be pissed off at him together," she snapped.

Joe put his guitar aside. It was more expensive than the one he'd left behind in LA, but the one he'd left behind he'd had since he was thirteen. He stood and walked towards Lilith, hesitating to take her in his arms and kiss her in greeting. "Hey, stranger," he said, with only a small edge to his voice.

Her chin lifted. "I didn't notice you beating a path to my door, if we're going to get into that."

Joe shrugged. "It was a heavy conversation. Maybe we both needed some time out." He sighed. "It's been sort of heavy recently."

"Tell me about it. Shaw informs me I won't be permitted on the current operation." Lilith's voice was low, frustration tensing her shoulders and back.

"Then you'll have to be pissed with me, too. I know that you're a badass," Joe smiled, trying to make it all a joke, "but I can't get upset that you won't be involved."

Her mouth pulled to the side in exasperation. "Your chivalry is very sweet, but it's really, really not necessary."

"Maybe it's not, but come on, can you blame me?"

"You're not going to be chivalrous about Shaw being up to his neck in this?"

"That's different," Joe began, but he was cut off.

"Why? Because he's a man?"

"No! No. Lilith...." Joe put his hands on her shoulders. "It's just different." He leaned forward, and she permitted a kiss on her cheek, but she stayed still under his hold.

"Because we're lovers? Shaw's your friend." That twisted something in Joe's gut, and he felt the resentment rise again. He'd always known there'd be a price to The Faith's protection, but paying it hurt.

"I know. But it's complicated." Joe tried, and dredged up the truth, something that he could actually appease her with. "I...hate the whole idea of this business, and I'm ashamed, okay? I don't want you to see me doing this crap."

"Which is why you're pissed off with Shaw."

"Yes." He pulled her closer, and she moved into him this time, put her arms around his waist. He hid his face in her hair. "I wish that I'd never heard of Delphi, or Simon, or...." He stopped.

"Molinar kills people, Joe. That much I'm permitted to know." Simon would probably look at Lilith and see a dainty morsel, and Joe felt bitter amusement at how Lilith would no doubt surprise Simon. Serve the murdering bastard right.

"I know that." Irritation at his own cowardice rose in him. "I just wish that I didn't have to be the person that helped stop him." He shrugged, felt the slide of his body inside the strength of her arms. "Yes, I know what that makes me." Coward. Hypocrite. A liar by omission, who'd let Lilith assume that revenge was all of Simon's interest in him.

She made no comment on Joe's judgement. "Come for a bike ride with me." Lilith shifted and tried to look into his face. "Closest thing to flying on the ground."

"I can think of other things that come close to it."

Lilith smiled at him, and her hand stroked slowly down his back in a way that made Joe shiver. "True. But I think – maybe this time we could find somewhere that's not in this House."

He knew what she meant. Yeah, he'd like to fuck somewhere not imbued with the odour of sanctity.

"Sounds like a plan."

***  
Will was sleeping in Joe's apartment while they waited for Simon's possible contact, which was a cause of both fascination and resentment.

Lilith was banished; cause for resentment.

"She's not part of this operation, Joe. That's the end of the matter."

"And you're happy about that?"

Will had raised his eyes, to the ceiling, to the heavens, and gritted out, "No. I'm not. I have discretion in my work but there are some times when I do what I'm told. This is one of them."

Fascination... Joe was involved with Lilith, was willing to acknowledge her important to him, even if he wasn't prepared to use the word 'love' for what they had. But Lilith's importance didn't make Joe blind, and Will was a good looking man. Resentment fed fascination. When Joe was thinking of Will purely as his friend, it seemed unfair to all of them to indulge fantasies. But now, when The Faith insisted that Lilith be temporarily put aside, and when Will made it clear that Simon was prey, there was a petty element of 'take that' in Joe's occasional night time fantasies. There were plenty of hours of the night-time to fill in.

"You should try and sleep," Will told him.

"I know that. But I'm nervous."

Will shrugged, and sacked out on Joe's couch with a perfect appearance of ease. Joe didn't feel resentful about that at _all_.

The call came at 2 am, and Joe started awake out of a surprisingly heavy sleep, his heart pounding.

Will stood at the bedroom door, a tall shadow with a quiet voice. "Answer it, Joe."

Joe picked up the cell phone from the night stand and spoke with a voice that surely ought to be as weak and hollow as the body projecting it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Joe. What have you got yourself into now?"

"Hey, Simon." Joe swallowed, suddenly frozen.

Simon made no reference to the pause, but kept speaking, his tone suave as ever. "I know that you haven't been leaving those billet-doux for me personally, but they all make it clear that I should call you at this number. And here I am. What do you want to tell me?"

"It has to stop, Simon." Not in the script, but it came out anyway. "It has to stop."

"No, it doesn't. If all your conversation is to wail about the evil that I do, then most regrettably, Joe, I'll have to hang up."

"No!"

"Joe." The voice was chiding. "Has Delphi got its hands on you?"

"No, not Delphi." Will had entered the room, silent in his bare feet, and now sat next to Joe. His face was gravely attentive as he watched Joe. The phone felt slippery in Joe's hand. When this call was over, he was going to take a shower, long and hot, something to get him clean and warm the chill in him.

"Some other think tank, presumably," Simon purred. "Do they want to copy me or put me down like a rabid dog?"

"The latter, I suspect. Unless you were willing to show that you could be more than that. Simon, you _could_ be more than that. You're an intelligent man, you have hundreds of lifetimes behind you. Jesus, isn't there more to life than hunting your damned food?"

"We all find value in doing what we're good at."

"The people I'm with, they have access to medical facilities. You seemed to do just fine on blood donation. I should know. I was your attending physician."

"Is that what you were, Joe?" It was bland, and turned Joe's efforts at sarcasm to nothing. "Is that what they've told you, your 'people'? You always were a fool, weren't you?"

Joe shut his eyes. His armpits were wet. The t-shirt and shorts he wore in deference to Will's presence were damp and bunched against his skin.

"They want it ended, Simon. They're going after you anyway, so why don't you pick an option that gives you a chance?"

"Is that what I have? A chance?"

He was going to be sick, or pass out. "That depends, doesn't it." No lies. No lies.

Will lifted the phone out of his hands, and Joe leaned on an elbow and stared at the sheet on his bed.

"Mr Molinar....No, I don't believe that I will....yes, you're right." Will's voice was polite, like he was on a business call, and then it hardened. "It doesn't matter. We'll hide him, we'll protect him for as long as it takes. If you want a chance at him you have to deal with us. If you want a chance at anything better, the same. Think about it, and call us back." Will's voice dropped into silky insolence. "When you're ready, Mr Molinar."

The call was ended, the phone put down on the nightstand, and Will spoke into another phone that he held, small and black and shiny.

"Any chance of a trace?" He nodded at whatever the answer was. "I'm not surprised. Our own communications remain secure? Good." The shiny black phone was put away and Will brushed his knuckles against his lips, and sat in thoughtful silence, before he looked at Joe. "You're okay?"

Joe didn't answer that. "He isn't going to fall for this. He knows it's a trap."

"Of course he does. But even intelligent people approach obvious traps if they're baited with what they want."

"Maybe I'm not what he wants."

Will shook his head. "Opinion is divided about Molinar's likely motivations. But he wants you, Joe, for whatever reason." Will paused. "Do you remember Gwen Taylor?"

Joe shoved himself up the bed, the edge of the headboard digging into his skin. "Yes. I remember her."

"She was murdered recently. It's assumed that it was the serial killer called Vlad. The death has his signature."

"Oh. Oh, Jesus." Joe scrambled from the entangling sheets, wanting to move, but suddenly clumsy. His foot caught in the bedding and he fell to his knees by the side of the bed. He backed up and sat leaning against the mattress, shaky with reaction and anger and irritated out of all proportion with the small aches and pains in his ankle, with the way that he'd scraped his knees and an elbow on the carpet. He started to shiver after a while, and Will draped the comforter around Joe before sitting, silent as before at the foot of the bed. "I hate you people."

Will moved to sit on the floor beside him, his arms looped around his knees. "We don't do what we do to be loved."

"That one I figured out on my own. He was in LA looking for me, wasn't he?"

"We believe so. Delphi believes so, too."

Joe pulled the comforter more tightly around his shoulders, and spared some thoughts for Gwen, no-nonsense, determined Gwen. He hoped she'd spat in Simon's face before she died.

"Your motivational techniques have succeeded. Happy now?"

"No."

Joe turned to look at Will. "Then why do it? Why do that?"

Will stared at his hands. "Because we do what we need to do. We have purposes to fulfil, Joe. Not just Molinar."

"Yeah. The all important mission. Glory, glory, hallelujah... She's really dead?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." Will turned his head to look at Joe, his unshaven jaw looking oddly rakish, despite his grave expression.

"Hey, it's okay." Joe heaved his weary self to his feet, Will shadowing the movement. "I didn't know her that well." He eyed the bed. He was exhausted, and it was tempting, but... "What if he calls back?"

"You don't have to speak to him again if he does. He knows that we have you."

"Yeah. You've got me." Joe dropped to the mattress without another thought, the comforter wound around him like a cocoon, and swooped down into sleep.

***

Joe was avoiding all references to stake-outs, because that was a joke too far, an idea too – pointed. He grimaced, disgusted with himself. Disgusted, and bored.

"Losing your taste for the coffee?" Will asked. "I can't blame you."

"What time is it?"

"4:55 am, Joe." Will's voice was tellingly patient.

"Hey, at least I wasn't chanting 'are we there yet, are we there yet?' all the way here."

He got a grin for that. "I'll grant you that."

"It's been two days – nights anyway."

"I'm starting to think that Mr Molinar is playing with us."

A mocking voice played in Joe's head. 'We will have some fun.' "It's possible. He has time on his side, Will."

"But we mere mortals don't, do we? And maybe he knows that, too. Something could happen to you, and his chance would be gone." Will shrugged. "We'll hope that he takes us up on our conveniently baited offer."

Joe sighed. "I think that Conroy still suspects I was fantasising. Or maybe dreaming of immortality." Silly to be grateful that Will had supported Joe's presence here when it was the last place that Joe wanted to be; shoring up his confidence whenever Joe freaked over just what it was that he'd committed himself to.

Conroy had argued vehemently against Joe's presence, and Joe wondered if The Faith's fear that Simon might take his prey would play against the mission. He was so surrounded by agents, all of them so clearly armed for nearly every contingency. Why would Simon take the risk of coming near?

"You were his physician. We should take note of your observations. If you think that he'll know whether you're here or not, then we should take account of that."

"Yeah." Joe thought of Simon's knowing smirk when he was a prisoner in Delphi's vampire-proof cell. He'd seen Joe through the one-way mirror, heard him through a reinforced wall, Joe was convinced of it, but somehow, that had never been tested. Too much emphasis on other matters; Simon's stamina, Simon's vulnerabilities, Simon's ability to regenerate, Simon's dietary requirements.

The Faith had been paying attention to the information on Simon's vulnerabilities, Joe noted. There were no more religious symbols on his protectors than there ever were, which was to say that most of them wore their double-triangle badges on their jackets, and Rivera, Will's second-in-command so as Joe could judge, had a small silver crucifix on a chain around his neck. The symbols were small. The guns were very big, almost laughably so, and were handled with a casual competence that Joe didn't envy. The one time he'd handled a gun, he couldn't bring himself to use it, anyway.

Joe was trying to pass the time with a JAMA article on screening for H Pylori (it was that or a well-thumbed Sudoku book) when Rivera stalked into the main room, his shoulders stiff with anger.

"He's killed again."

"Where?" Will asked. Joe set his journal aside, anxiety prickling his skin.

"Chicago," Rivera spat. "The bastard is yanking our chain."

Will's eyebrow rose, and Rivera backed down from his show of temper. "Sorry. But it's the thought of some poor woman dead while we waste our time here."

"Chicago?" Joe said. "Then he's..."

"Too far from here." Will's mouth twisted in anger.

"Couldn't make it here before daylight if he had a VTOL jet and landed on the - " Rivera made a visible effort to discipline his tongue in front of his superior, " the street outside."

"He hasn't contacted us again?"

"Nothing."

"He was here two days ago," Joe complained. "Wasn't he?"

"We thought so. But hey, there's always the red-eye flights," Rivera retorted. "He has money."

Will was quiet, but his free hand was clenched into a fist. "We'll stand down until tonight. He can come back just as easily as he left. There'll be a review here at 16:30, the upstairs room."

Rivera nodded. "Understood."

Joe eyed the door, restless now at the prospect of comparative freedom. "So this means that I can leave now, instead of waiting for daylight? Because I am so sick of this room."

"_We_ can leave, yes."

"Me and my shadow," Joe sniped.

"Walking down the avenue. Breakfast?" Will asked, unfazed. Joe irritably wondered just what would faze the man: besides telling him that Joe wasn't choosy about the gender of his bed partners.

"Something small. And then sleep." Sleep: in a warm, comfortable hotel bed with the curtains opened wide to the daylight, in a building where Joe didn't have to remember where the pressure pads and the laser alarm beams were. Joe had brought a sleep mask with him and Will had done no more than nod at the pragmatism of it.

The early morning air was cool, and there were even a few birds singing, although it was full dark still.

"The hotel restaurant isn't bad," Will suggested as he unlocked the car. The enormous gun was laid carefully along the backseat, lightly disguised with a blanket that didn't entirely cover the stock. The assumption that it could still be needed made Joe wince, but he tried to disguise that.

"It'll do," Joe agreed, settling himself into the car's front passenger seat. "I'll have a shower, then food, then sleep. Sounds good."

Will pulled out of the driveway of their safe-house onto the road. Half an hour until they hit the city, another half an hour until they reached their destination. Joe leaned forward to fumble through the neatly ordered CDs. "Do I know _any_ of these people?" he complained.

"If you play one of them, you'll know them then," Will suggested, all serenity.

"Secret agent types with weird tastes and no shame about inflicting them on other people," Joe grumbled, glancing up at to look at the patch of road lit ahead of them. His mouth fell open in horror. There was a figure, dark, hooded, right in front of the car. It moved, trying to jump out of the way perhaps, and then there were two sickening thumps and the windscreen spider-webbed into cracks before Will brought everything to a shrieking, skidding stop.

"Oh, god, we hit somebody," Joe yelled. He fumbled at the seat belt, before Will's hand closed over his.

"Stay still and stay in the car," Will commanded, and he was gone, but not before he'd opened up the back and grabbed his gun.

Joe shoved his own door open, too buzzed with shock and adrenalin to obey Will's order. "Will! How bad is it? Can you find him?"

The roar of the gun was the only answer. "Holy shit!" Joe yelped, peering into the dark. The noise came from behind the car, and everything was silence after that one blast. "Will!" he called. And again. "Will! Damn it. Say something!"

There was the sound of running footsteps, and a bulky, lop-sided figure appeared in the light bleeding back from the car's headlights.

"Hello, Joe. Long time, no see." The voice was pleasant, well-modulated, English accented; Joe stared in horror.

"Leather jackets. Red sports cars. Did Jim and Tammy Bakker see The Faith in action before they started their ministry?" There was no hint of exertion in Simon's voice as he bundled Will into the trunk of the car like so much shabby, well-used baggage, only a slyly amused intonation. "Not inclined to run for it, Joe?"

"How far would I get?" Joe retorted, wishing that his voice was firmer. "Besides..." he gestured at the opened trunk door, and then winced as Simon slammed it shut.

"You can't help him."

"Why take him, anyway, Simon? It's me that you want." Joe wouldn't have thought that he could get any more scared, but he was proved wrong as Simon advanced on him, a feral smile stretching across his good-looking, saturnine face.

"Think of it as an experiment," he murmured, and Joe would have flinched back like a startled cat, except that Simon had grabbed his wrist (so fast, so very fast) and clicked a cuff around it. "Time to get in, Joe. We're on the clock right now." He shoved Joe into the front seat of Will's car and deftly threaded the opened cuff through the grab handle and onto the same wrist that was caught in the first cuff. "There we are," he said, like a proud father who'd just strapped his son into the big kid's car seat for the first time. "You might want to cover your face, Joe."

Simon was gone, and then Joe started as something (the stock of Will's gun?) smashed a hole in the cracked windscreen, scattering sparkles of safety glass everywhere. Joe watched with sick fascination as Simon's hands took a grip on the broken edges and pulled the remainder of the windscreen apart and threw the broken pieces on the road. Then he got in the driver's side of the car, and with a roar and a fishtailing weave they set off. Joe's eyes watered in the wind of their movement.

"I like this car," Simon called, above the noise. "Even in its slightly damaged state. It's a pity I can't keep it."

"It's Will's car."

Simon gave Joe a quick, irritated look. "Only temporarily. And you do have that sentimental streak. I was thinking you'd be the sort to keep this excellent vehicle in memoriam."

"Fuck you, Simon." Joe felt his skin beginning to creep. Any moment now, he'd be shuddering quite visibly. He bit his lip, hard, willing himself not to give himself away like that. 'Calm' he told himself. 'Keep calm'.

"Simon..." Joe eyed the car's speedometer. They were doing close to eighty mph, and even a slight bend in the road stressed Joe's arm and shoulder.

"Yes, Joe?" It sounded indulgent.

"Slow down." It wasn't what Joe had intended to say. What he wanted to say crowded at the base of his throat like a meal that wouldn't settle.

"Oh, we are, but only temporarily. We _are_ a touch strapped for time. All change." Which was nonsensical, and Joe couldn't figure it out until Simon stopped and hustled him into another car parked at the side of the road, once more securing him with the cuffs. Joe felt the car bounce on its suspension as Simon again, none too gently, dumped Will in the trunk and slammed it shut, before starting up this new car and taking off with a screech of tyres. Joe's face warmed only a little now that they were sheltered from the wind again.

"Don't worry. I'm an excellent driver," Simon declared blithely. "Very good night vision."

"How did you get here?" Joe asked. "You killed some poor woman in Chicago not so long ago. Unless you can teleport."

Simon laughed. "You sound quite surprisingly attractive when you're being sarcastic." His voice dropped, became intimate, a friend sharing a joke that he only wants to go so far. "I have a Renfield. I even call him that, and I rather fear for his intelligence because he doesn't know the reference and hasn't ever bothered to investigate. And with all the resources of this quite wonderful century available to him." Simon's voice became ruminative. "I may not keep him much longer. I have you to keep an eye on, now after all. I have a feeling you're going to be high maintenance for the first fifty years or so."

Joe swallowed. "Let Will go. You don't need him."

"Yes, I do. Well, to be precise, I don't need him for myself, I need him for you."

Joe stared blindly out at the road in front of the car's lights. So far he could see, and no further. "What do you mean?"

A deep, theatrical sigh. It wasn't as if Simon needed to breathe, after all. "Joe, I know you're not stupid. A little unwise sometimes, but not stupid."

Blood running cold: Joe had been truly terrified enough times to know that it really felt like that, blood heat turned to frigidity in one sickly instant, just like this moment now.

"No. No way." He yanked frantically at the cuffs, but all that happened was that his hand hurt like hell. "No." He turned to Simon, more than willing to beg for mercy for Will. For mercy for himself. "Simon, I owe you, I know that. You can kill me, I won't fight you, come on! Please!"

"I never wanted you dead, Joe," was the tranquil reply. "And you'll be hungry later."

Terrified rage rose in Joe. "No way," he repeated, and grabbed for the steering wheel, revulsion driving purpose. He'd rather die mangled in a wreck. Unfair of him to kill Will as well, but wasn't that better than what Simon had in mind?

Simon's right hand had a hold of Joe's wrist. Joe never even saw it move – Simon's hand was simply there, rigidly immovable, Joe's hand held within it. The car jerked to a halt, and Simon undid one of the cuffs around Joe's right hand and latched it around Joe's left wrist as well. "I would have preferred you to be more comfortable, but if you're going to be stubborn..." Something was wound around his feet as well.

The car sped forward once again, and Joe leaned his forehead against the useless shelter of his raised arms, and lost the fight against the shivers. They grew, wracking him, and to his horror, he started to cry, harsh sobs that were hauled out of his gut and not smothered at all in the close air of the car. He cried for perhaps five minutes, his head turned towards the window, before everything wound down into snotty, sniffling apathy. He shut his eyes. He wasn't here, he was in the damaged Mustang left behind them. He was driving somewhere with Will, somewhere safe. He dropped a little deeper still away from the real world, feeling only the vibration of the car. It grew louder, an echo of a motorcycle's roar; he was behind Lilith, hanging on to her and the deceptive, sword-slim strength of her.

Joe let himself dream, until the car door opened in front of him, and Simon freed him and bundled him out of the car. His hand was a pincer grip around Joe's upper arm, propelling him into a house. Joe had a confused impression of trees, of the scent of water, and of a clear lightening of the sky. East, Joe thought. That's the east over there, but then he was hustled inside away from the beginning of the day.

***

Molinar hauled Will out of the Mustang's trunk, with no evidence of disgust about the smell of vomit there, and stripped him roughly and thoroughly with the help of a knife, without ever undoing the restraints about his wrists. "I wouldn't put it past you to have some extra toys about you," he said softly. Molinar replaced the restraints about his ankles – they'd been caught above the tops of Will's boots, and were too loose for Molinar's peace of mind, clearly. Then he hoisted Will as easily as Will had once lifted Connor out of his crib, and tumbled him into the trunk of another car, slamming the door down, leaving Will disoriented and sick. He was cold with shock, and wished for his clothes back, even stinking as they'd been. The vibration of the car's engine and movement thrummed into his aching head.

Will tried to gather his thoughts. He was reasonably sure that he'd hit Molinar when he fired – but not anywhere debilitating. You're getting old, he told himself bitterly, and not likely to get too much older. He tried wriggling for leverage to push against the lid of the trunk, but with no luck. The effort left him dizzy and nauseated once again. Mild concussion, he diagnosed. It could have been worse, and Will wondered why he was still alive. Then he grinned mirthlessly. Molinar was a vampire; it was humbling to realise that you were nothing more than a packed lunch.

They drove for perhaps an hour. Will had a good time sense, but Molinar hit hard, and Will still felt the effect. Feeling the effects didn't stop him from straining at the cuffs. They were plastic, and plastic cuffs could be snapped in the right circumstances. The right circumstances weren't when Will was unwillingly cramped into the trunk of a car like a circus contortionist. All that happened was that he made his arms and his legs bleed. When the car stopped, Will braced himself for whatever would come next, and waited for torturous minutes until the trunk opened, giving Will a merciful chance to breathe pure, fresh air. A blacker shadow loomed over him. There was a tiny glint, light from somewhere reflecting off something shiny held in Molinar's hand; Will's lapel badge – The Faith's sigil.

"I did suspect as much, but it's nice to have it confirmed," Molinar said, crouching so that their faces were closer to level in the dark. His voice was pleasant, his words less so. "Your organisation has a long history, Will, although not as long as mine. I've met you people before. The Netherlands, 1752 I think. I knew a woman called Anna-Marie, not as pretty as Joe, but charming, intelligent. Not my usual at all. I thought I'd killed her, but she knocked on my door three nights later, full of anger and curiosity, demanding to know what I'd done to her. We discovered it together. A friend told me how she died, shackled to a stake and left out in the sun. You didn't even have the mercy to try and kill her any other way first, and she burned." Molinar's voice deepened, roughened on that last word. He stood and hauled Will out of the trunk and slung him over a shoulder. "Payback is a bitch, isn't it?" he enquired. "As are long memories, institutional or otherwise."

It was a dizzying, jolting trip to the interior of a house, sparsely furnished from what Will could see from his awkward vantage, and it ended with Molinar unceremoniously dropping Will to the concrete floor of a lit cellar. A spike of fresh pain pierced Will's head, and the shoulder that hit first throbbed with a sickening ache.

"Will!" Joe came from somewhere and crouched beside him, but only for a moment. Molinar hooked a hand under Joe's armpit and dragged him up, pinning him against the dingy block wall. Joe's eyes were shut and his breathing uneven, and if he could have thrown himself backwards through the ungiving surface, he clearly would have.

"It's nearly light," Molinar murmured. "And I need my beauty sleep." He cupped his palm against Joe's face, the gesture strangely gentle. "But first we should get this show on the road, don't you think?"

Joe opened his eyes, and looked into Molinar's face. "I told you that I'd never forgive you." His voice shook. "That hasn't changed, Simon, and it won't change. Ever."

"Ever and a day, Joe." He kissed Joe on the temple. "I can wait. You'll watch the world changing all around you, and forgiveness won't matter any more, because what will matter is knowing that there's still one person who remembers the same things that you do, one person who'll still be a constant fifty years later, a hundred years later, a thousand. It won't matter whether it's love or hate. It'll be me." He bent his head. The hand that had held Joe so gently gripped his jaw, tilted Joe's head, and Molinar kissed him. Joe stiffened in outraged fear, but as Will watched, he saw the posture change, relax. Joe didn't return the kiss, but he accepted it, opened his mouth to it, and Will felt more than a little outrage of his own, anger at Joe, and then an acid anger at Molinar when he realised what was happening. When Molinar pulled back, Joe moaned.

"Bodily fluid exchange number one," Molinar said softly. He no longer pinned Joe so agressively, and he ran a hand down Joe's body with a casual air of ownership. "Better now, aren't you, Joe? Not so scared." He pulled Joe into his arms in a close embrace, and nuzzled against his neck. Joe tilted his head back, his mouth slack, his face dazed. Will watched with sick, fascinated distaste as Molinar opened his mouth and then bit. Joe jerked in his arms, and Molinar freed one hand to gently stroke at Joe's crotch. Joe cried out, one sharply-edged noise as Molinar's mouth worked for a minute or so and then he lifted his head, his tongue creeping out to lick over his own lips with every sign of pleasure. "There now," he said, soothing, gentle. "And to be thorough about this..." He bit his bottom lip, the long canine teeth puncturing the flesh easily. Molinar sucked his lip back, drawing the blood into his mouth and then he kissed Joe once more, a lingering, lover's kiss, before he gently let Joe go to slide down and sit slumped against the wall.

Molinar approached Will and knelt beside him, watching Will's efforts to break the cuffs, the futile movement. Will stared at him, not breaking his gaze despite Molinar's amused contempt, not flinching, even when Molinar dragged him onto his own knees in his turn. Molinar's eyes were dark, and they looked into Will's as if he'd like to dig out Will's soul. Will stared back, silent, focused less on Molinar's demeaning examination than on a space inside himself, created out of faith and training and quite separate from this moment where he fully expected to die. "It would give me a great deal of pleasure to finish you myself. But I'm saving you for my friend." Will's eyes widened in shock as understanding broke his defences for one gut-wrenching moment. Molinar smiled. "But I do need a little refreshment. You're not a bad shot and my shoulder still hurts." The vampire's breath was clammy against Will's cheek. "I don't think I need to bother with the seduction in your case." Inhuman strength held him upright, before there was the rough tear of teeth, and the quietly obscene sound of sucking that Will had been too far away to hear when it had been Joe.

Molinar finished with him quickly, and shoved Will down to the concrete floor once more, and stood, leaving Will wearily surprised to be alive, and queasily grateful that Molinar hadn't bothered with the 'seduction'. He shuddered hard before he managed to control himself. Would Joe bother with seduction? Will didn't know the answer to that, and didn't want to know the answer.

Molinar glanced away from Will, as uninterested as Will would be with a left-over piece of gristle, and stared at Joe.

"I'm not sure how long this will take, so in that spirit of uncertainty, au revoir, gentlemen." Molinar bothered to look at Will this time. "We might meet again. We'll have to see, won't we?"

He was gone, shutting a heavy door behind him. Clicks and rattles followed his departure – the sound of door locks and chains being set. Then there was silence, just two men locked in a small room. There was a narrow window high up the wall close to the ceiling, covered with a security grille. The light from the bare bulb in the ceiling (also covered with metal mesh) still outshone the light of the coming day.

"Joe?" Will's voice croaked, and he tried to clear his throat.

"Yeah." It was very soft. Joe had drawn up his knees and slumped his head down, but now he shifted and rose gingerly to his feet, before stumbling the few steps he needed to be by Will's side. Joe's hand gently touched Will's neck, where the pain radiated out in sharp, slowly subsiding waves. "He left a mess here." Joe leaned back to check Will's arms, and then he shifted and shook his head over his legs. "Although it's not much more than you've made of yourself." Joe roused to greater attention, looking around the bare space of their prison. The concrete floor ended in a dirt patch against the length of one wall. There was what looked like water in two old gallon juice bottles against another wall, and that was it.

Joe leaned down to stare into Will's face, like and unlike Molinar's penetrating look. "How's it going, Will?"

"I'm awake and oriented, Doctor." Will tried a smile, but it wasn't returned.

"Bet your head aches like a son of a bitch. And your shoulders. Never mind what the cuffs have done to you." Joe's fingers rested against the pulse in Will's throat as he checked his watch, and then Joe carefully handled his head to investigate what Will suspected was good-sized swelling, before he gently lowered him and took off his jacket and sweater, laying the sweater under Will's head and the jacket across his shoulders. Both were warm from Joe's body, and Will sighed quietly.

"I'd cut off those damn plastic cuffs but I'm not exactly a Swiss army knife kind of guy. Sorry." Joe gestured at his still clothed self. "I guess we know which one of us he sees as an actual threat, huh? Although I got pretty thoroughly frisked a few minutes ago."

Will made no response to that bitter acknowledgement. "Thanks. I was getting cold."

"Yeah." Joe rose and went to the window. He swayed slightly on the journey.

"Joe? How are you?"

Joe didn't turn. "I'm peachy, Will. Absolutely peachy." He gripped the narrowly spaced bars at the window and tried to shift them. Nothing happened. "Hey!" Joe yelled. "Hey! Anyone! Help! We need the cops here!" There was no sound except Joe's rough breaths. "Fuck!" Joe hauled at the bars in desperate frustration. "Shit!" he shouted. His fist slammed against the bars, then against the wall. "Motherfucker!"

"Joe. Calm down."

Joe whirled. "I'm sorry. Am I not being stoic enough for you?"

"Come and sit down. You're hurt too."

Joe's hand moved to his neck, to the raw wound and the sticky blood. "Yeah. Yeah, but I'm going to get better." He stared at Will from across the room. "You know why you're here, don't you?"

"Yes, I know. It's clever of him. Sensible even, which isn't necessarily the same thing." What better way to drive home Joe's eventual changed status than to force him to feed on a friend? Will could be almost admiring of it.

"That's very - tactically minded of you."

"Yes. Come on, sit down. But bring a bottle of water over with you first."

Joe grabbed a bottle and then dropped down to sit beside him. His face was very pale. "You'll be more comfortable if your head's supported. Or do you want me to help you sit up?"

"Up," Will said. "And give me some of that water."

It was awkward, but they managed, and Will felt immeasurably better for the fluid, but worried that Joe apparently wasn't interested in the water himself. Joe fussed about tying the sweater around Will's shoulders, and draping the jacket over his lap.

"Joe. It's all right. Me being naked is the least of our problems right now."

Joe's eyes were shadowed. "You don't need to be any colder than you have to be. Unless you're worried about my gay cooties." His gaze dropped to the damp mark on the crotch of his jeans.

"You're not responsible for what Molinar did. Anything else is immaterial." The wrong thing to say, perhaps. But Will had dealt with that blurted admission in the hallway by ignoring it; as a strategy, it had worked so far and he didn't think that now was the time to abandon it. "Take off your watch."

Joe looked at him, startled. "What?"

"Take off your watch," Will repeated patiently.

"Is this where we play MacGyver?" Joe asked, fumbling at the buckle on the leather strap.

"Something like that."

"Okay. Here it is." Joe held it out for Will's examination.

"Do you think you could pop the glass? Or break it without everything turning into smithereens?"

"I can try." Flicking it by the strap so that face flew into the air and hit against the metal guard on the light worked satisfactorily. The watch dropped back to floor with the glass covering the face splintered. Joe worked at it, swearing as he cut his finger. He sucked at it, purely a reflex action, and then Will saw him freeze. He turned his head and saw Will's scrutiny, and took the finger out of his mouth. "Sorry. Distracted."

"I want you to try cutting at the cuffs. The ones on my wrists first."

Joe shifted to reach Will. "Is this going to work, or are you just finding make-work for the dumb civilian?"

Will bowed his head forward. He was tired, and in pain, and ignoring it all only took him so far. "You have a cynical turn of mind, Joe."

"Yeah. Well, you know me."

"Take it gently. We don't want the glass to break."

"I _know_, okay?"

Joe worked steadily and doggedly for some time, until what Will suspected was the inevitable happened. Joe cursed, and moved back. "Sorry. I've broken it. And the rest of it's too small for me handle."

"You're sure?"

"I may not be James fucking Bond but I know when I can't usefully shred my fingers on a piece of glass!" There was a silence.

"My apologies," Will said. Disappointment tightened his throat.

"No, no it's okay. It's okay," Joe breathed. "I'm sorry."

"How much damage did you do to the restraint?"

"I've frayed it. Maybe." Joe sounded exhausted. Then his voice changed, became more obviously distressed. "Oh. Shit."

"Joe?"

Joe didn't speak. Instead he lurched to his feet, stumbled to the patch of uncovered floor and was violently sick. He wiped wretchedly at his mouth, before fumbling at the fastening of his jeans. "Oh, god. Will, I'm really sorry..."

Will already had the idea, and averted his eyes to give Joe what privacy was possible. Their prison stank of vomit and shit. Eventually, Joe crawled back to Will's side, shirtless, and dressed only in his jeans now. The shirt lay abandoned and draped over the mess, used for whatever cleanup Joe had been capable of. Joe leaned against the wall next to Will.

"That wasn't humiliating at all. Said the doctor to the naked secret-agent guy."

"Captivity isn't often kindly." Will looked closely at Joe, who was sweating, and gray around the mouth. Will had seen better looking corpses, and he had enough light now to see clearly. It was full daylight outside, no surprise given that Will estimated it to be mid-morning. "Drink some water, Joe."

"I've already rinsed my mouth, and I don't want it. Really, really don't want it. Which is an interesting physiological reaction, don't you think?" Joe roused. "I should get you some, though. Selfish, dumb of me..."

"Wait a moment." Will shut his eyes. The pain in his own body hadn't decreased any with the passage of time, and he was about to make himself hurt worse. But now at least he'd had a chance to rest, he'd had water, and he had as much freedom of movement as someone bound hand and foot could have. Now or never. He bowed his head, and prayed, his lips moving in forms familiar from his childhood.

"Will. Are you okay?"

Exasperation tinged with small amusement stirred in Will. "I was praying. I'm fine."

"Ah. Yeah. Well, I guess we need all the help we can get." Joe made a non-committal gesture with one hand. "Carry on." He then swiped his hand across his face. "I... did that sound patronising?" They were a fine pair, Will thought. Friends, and studiedly ignoring central cores of the other.

"Yes." Will paused for a moment before he said, "But I forgive you."

Joke, and not joke, but Joe took it only one way and laughed. It was weak, and tremulous, but it was still laughter. "Funny guy," he said fondly.

"Not really. Try not to distract me, okay?" Will took some deep breaths. Restraints could be broken, he reminded himself. He twisted; yanked; strained; and the hot-cold rush of sickness that ran through him along with the fire all through his arms changed to exultation when he realised that his hands were free. He couldn't hold back one groan as he shifted his arms to rest in front of him. It didn't matter that his feet were still tied, or that they were still trapped in a small, fetid room. His hands were free, and even as new pains began, Will was fiercely glad, and thankful.

Joe stared at him in simple amazement before he sat up on his heels and ran gentle hands across Will's arms. "Just call you Superman? How badly did you shred your muscles playing that trick?"

"My hands are numb. I'm more worried by that."

"Not surprised," Joe muttered. "Tell me if you feel any of this." He stroked gently at Will's hands, poked and even pinched them, measured and judged Will's answers to his questions. "Hopefully only temporary. Can you hold this?" He passed the bottle of water to Will, and Will carefully lifted it and blessedly slaked his thirst for himself.

Joe watched him, before he stood, moving himself in line with the small window, and raised one arm and slowly waved it before dropping it once more. He kept his back turned, and there was something vulnerable in the slump of his naked shoulders. His skin was very white. "What would you say the light is like?"

"Dull." It was an overcast day outside, judging by the light filtering past the grille and the window, and not that warm in their prison.

"Yeah. But I can feel it. Like I'm standing under a hot sun on the beach." Joe turned. "I won't do it. Just because Simon thinks he's this great predator... "

"I'm not going to blame you for anything that happens."

"You won't need to. Nothing _is_ going to happen!" Joe snapped, wilfully ignoring whatever possibilities were inherent in Molinar's return. He dropped to sit beside Will, and drew his knees up, before letting them restlessly drop. "I'm always feeling like I can't breathe." He drew his knees up again, and dropped his head to rest his face against them. "I keep thinking that it's my fault. If I'd just done things differently. I picked up a gun at Delphi. Maybe I couldn't have killed Simon, but they might have caught him, and..."

"And you'd both be prisoners, if you weren't dead, and Molinar would have turned you months ago regardless."

"I know." Joe's fists clenched. "I should have pulled out right at the beginning, as soon as I knew. It was wrong, right from the start. God, my fault that you're here. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I promised to protect you, and I failed."

"Not your fault." Joe sounded drugged, and as Will watched his eyes fluttered shut. Panic flared inside Will, but his anxious examination found a pulse. Joe only slept, and Will clumsily laid him down with his sweater under his head, and examined the zipper on Joe's jacket with a jaundiced eye. It was all that he had, to fray or weaken the plastic tie around his legs. He had until evening to try, at least.

Joe slept for at least two hours, even snored a little which comforted Will. He woke groggy and slightly disoriented and swallowed about two mouthfuls of water

"How did you forgive Lilith? For Connor."

"It was required of me," Will said shortly. He was sore, and frustrated, and still had the plastic restraints around his legs, and he didn't want to discuss his son.

"That simple?"

"Put your sweater on. You look cold."

"_I_ look cold?"

Will made no answer. Instead he kept up his awkward, dogged abrading of the zipper teeth on the restraint, to no success. He had to take breaks because his hand would shake periodically. Joe sat in miserable, sullen silence. Towards late afternoon, he started shuddering, and Will shuffled to him and draped the coat over Joe.

"I – uh – I," Joe found it hard to shape words around the trembling of his body. "Talk to me, Will," he whispered, barely audible. Will gathered him against his side and held tight against the shivers, which felt as if they could break Joe apart. Will spoke softly – memories of his childhood, his upbringing, his training.

He stiffened suddenly and so did Joe, his eyes raising to the ceiling. There was the sound of movement from above. It was still light, although not for much longer.

"Hey!" Joe shouted. "Hey! Down here." There was silence then. No matter how intense his concentration, Will could hear nothing else, until the rending groans at the door as it was pulled away from its hinges and literally thrown aside. A shape, looming and dark filled the doorway, and Joe pulled away with a cry of fear.

Will felt only a sweet, bubbling relief. "Hello, Lilith," he said.

***

There were books spread out beside and over her bed – theology, some of them, including books that made the Prefect sigh and Shaw roll his eyes, and would, Lilith suspected, give Conroy a stroke. Fortunately for his health, she doubted that the concept of feminist theology had ever crossed his mind, and the Prefect, that doubtful ally, had apparently made little public comment about it. There was the beautifully illustrated book on roses that Joe had given her as a gift after she'd told him about Elle's work in the flower shop, and a scatter of bike magazines incongruously interleaved with issues of Cosmopolitan and Glamour. None of them could distract her right now from the restless resentment in her, which she hadn't been able leave behind her with the beat of wings, no matter how much night-flying she indulged. She leaned her chin on the back of her hands as she sprawled on her bed amid the clutter, before she looked up at a knock at her door.

She rose and opened the door, to see Peter Hibbert standing there, looking as uncomfortable as she'd ever seen him.

"Director Conroy needs to talk to you."

"It's early," Lilith said, looking at the small clock by her bedside, and then spoke more sharply. "What's wrong, Peter?"

"Agent Shaw and Dr Warren are missing."

"Missing!" Lilith wore her habitual jeans and tank top. She grabbed some sneakers and jammed them onto her feet, before she dragged a long-sleeved t-shirt over her head. That was as decently dressed as she needed to be. "There's a search?"

"Yes, but that's not why you're required."

Lilith paused at that. "Why am I 'required' then?"

"Director Conroy will be able to advise you."

"I certainly hope so," Lilith said softly, as they strode towards an elevator, which took them to the Operations level. Peter showed her into the main room, which was quiet at that early hour. Conroy and two other men, and Peter and Lilith herself were there, all of them facing each other with a subdued air of harassment.

"How much has Dr Warren told you about Molinar?" Conroy snapped.

"Very little. It's been made clear to both of us that it's not a topic for conversation," Lilith replied tartly. She should show more diplomacy, she knew, but this man rubbed her entirely the wrong way.

Conroy's mouth pressed into a thin line. "This is important. Did Dr Warren ever say anything to you that indicated that he would be interested in - joining with Simon Molinar?"

"No!" Lilith protested. "Joe wouldn't do that."

Conroy leaned against a bench where two laptops rested. "You know as well as anyone here the sort of temptation that Molinar represents. Immortality... People don't always care who or what they damage to lay their hands on that."

"That's not Joe," she said firmly. But something faltered in her. Immortality – no. It wouldn't be an immediate temptation to Joe. But the desire to make good on a mistake, to offer restitution; that, she could find understandable. Except there was Shaw. "Joe - he wouldn't hurt Shaw. They're friends."

"Chappell was a friend to more than one man here," Conroy said, with a look at Peter, whose dark skin didn't show a flush although he looked miserable enough for it.

"Joe wouldn't willingly go with Molinar. He certainly wouldn't risk Shaw."

"Agent Shaw," Conroy corrected.

"Joe wouldn't hurt Will." She seldom used Shaw's first name. He was always Shaw to her, but the unfamiliar name was worth it, briefly, for the flare of anger across Conroy's face. God forbid that Shaw be more than her guard and guardian.

"Thank you for your advice, Lilith."

It was attempted dismissal, and she balked. "What do we know? Do we know where they are?"

"We're searching."

"Then I can help."

Conroy shook his head. "No."

"Why not? Why the hell not? Do you think they're dead already?" she demanded.

Peter placed a hand on her shoulder. It was no doubt intended to be comforting, but the touch only sparked raw irritation in her.

"Lilith. If Molinar has them..." He cleared his throat. "There are things that we wanted you to keep secret from Dr Warren. There are things we wanted him to keep secret from you. You neither of you had clearance. Shaw assured us...."

"Yes, I _know_," she gritted out between her teeth.

"Molinar didn't want Dr Warren just for revenge. He can turn the doctor, make him something like himself."

"Joe a vampire?" She stared at the men around her. "You could still help him. He'd co-operate..." She stopped. Expressions ranged from sympathy to contempt. "You'll put him down if you find him. He'll be demonicos and you won't give a shit about him any longer."

"Not how I'd express it, but correct enough. It's sad. Regrettable," Conroy said. "It would be just as inappropriate to involve you in this now as it was before. More so, given your relationship with Dr Warren. If Molinar has them, then Shaw is quite likely dead anyway. A great shame. He was a good man."

But she was already turning away, shaking with rage. She made the safety of her room and slammed the door shut, before she leaned against it, and turned her arm to gaze at her scars: the Marks of Dagoth. For a moment, she had the wild urge to tear at them with her teeth. They didn't mark her coming redemption, only her servitude to men like Conroy.

Instead of hurting herself, she grabbed her jacket, her helmet, her keys, and she made for the garage level like a child running for home. Her foot struck at the kick start like an arsonist flicking a match, and she roared out of The Faith's house. Bat out of hell, she thought, and slewed around a corner with wild recklessness, trying to lose herself in the noise and vibration, the rush of wind against her body.

It was like meditation – something that Shaw had taught her the rudiments of, enough that she recognised the calm that came over her. When she reached the edge of the city, she kept going, and the only thing she stopped for was gas, until she crossed the state line. She kept going then, following an instinct that she didn't recognise but that fascinated her utterly. This way. She should go this way, and no other, and as fast as she possibly could.

It was getting late in the afternoon when she passed the tow truck hauling Shaw's car behind it, heading back to town. She ignored that - except to note the name of the company. William Shaw, she believed, was still alive, and if he was still alive then he'd value knowing where his car was. Joe was still alive too. 'What did you do to Shaw' they'd asked her. Better ask what Shaw and Joe had done to her. Got under her skin, into her blood, just as she'd done the same for them, and she knew where they were now. She would always know where they were, now that she knew that she could. They were hers now.

***

The small house was isolated, set off the road. It was still light, but there was no-one to see, and she made the change without a second thought, stalking softly through shabby rooms, across worn carpet and a vinyl floor marked with cigarette burns. The house was empty apparently, but she knew that Shaw and Joe were nearby, and when she found the stairs leading down she smiled as she walked down them and took the door off its hinges without a thought and squeezed through into the cellar room.

The two men stared at her – Shaw, naked and bloodied, looked as pleased to see her as he ever looked, and she stepped forward and with a careful flick of talons broke the plastic ties across his ankles. Joe, with a cry of fear, had backed himself into a corner of the cellar.

"Joe..." Shaw began, but she held up her hand.

"It's me, Joe," she said, her voice low but still far too large for this hole in the ground. "It's Lilith."

His mouth shaped her name, but he was almost mute with amazement, and he stayed curled into his huddle in the corner. She sniffed. The scent of human waste registered but it was simply another smell to her in this form, along with the chalky scent of the concrete and the sharp tang of Shaw's blood against the back of her tongue. Far more important was the smell that came from Joe – ancient and vividly wrong in a human: the taint of demonicos.

"What did he do?" she growled.

"What do you think?" Shaw said, getting to his feet with a pained expression and bracing himself with one hand against the cinderblock wall.

Joe was still staring at them both, and Lilith felt a sharp anger in her chest. How dare he look at her like that, when his scent was so tainted with the scent of The Faith's ancient enemy. Then Joe lifted one eyebrow and spoke, his voice shaky and hoarse, but also quizzical. "You and Will weren't joking about that bad-ass thing."

She crouched before him. She was maybe three feet taller than him in this form and she couldn't stand upright in the room. "I told you," she said.

"Yeah, you did. Lilith, I'm...." Joe's voice faltered.

"I know." She laid a hand on him, her dark, broad hand with its long claws, and he hissed in surprise at the spark and flare of light between their skins.

She could feel whatever it was in his blood; she could see it, like poisonous golden threads in his veins, a toxic embroidery. Thread could be unpicked, unraveled. What _did_ she do to Shaw, to Will who should have died when the beast tore open his skin? And could she do it again? "Does that hurt?" she asked.

Joe seemed to think about his answer. "No," he replied, but he didn't sound sure. She leaned forward to cup his face between her hands. He stared back at her, afraid, but also fascinated, before he lifted a hand to lay it upon her wrist. Again, there was a flare of orange light, but he didn't flinch this time. There were tears in his eyes. "Lilith," he tried again. "Simon...."

"Hush," she said fiercely, and gathered him into her lap.

"Lilith." Shaw's voice. She turned her head to look at him.

"Let us be, Shaw. Go find yourself some pants while there's still daylight."

He stared at her. Offense, surprise, speculation; they were all in his face, along with grief and guilt when his gaze flicked to Joe. She'd learned how to read him well enough.

"We don't have long," he said to her.

"I know how long we have. And I know how long _he_ has." It wasn't a reference to the man shivering against her body, and Shaw's expression turned satisfied.

"I'll go clean up," he said, and left them, to wash the blood off himself and find pants and whatever weapons this house might offer.

"Joe?" she murmured.

"What?" It was low, and irritable, and his teeth briefly chattered after he was finished.

"Would you let me help you?"

He shifted then, pushing himself out of her hold to sit on his heels and face her. His face was dry and an odd colour, like the paper of the ancient books that rested in the library back at the House. "Can you?"

"I don't know. But I want to try."

His hope died at her confusion, but he jerked his hand. She suspected that he'd meant a dismissive wave, but his body escaped his control. Perhaps she could do better. "Knock yourself out," he said shortly.

She stared at him, and then stripped off the jacket and the sweater that he wore, and gathered him back to herself, his skin against her own. "Feels weird," he said, and nothing more. Lilith said nothing either, just concentrated on tracing those bright veins of gold, and tugging gently at them, pulling them into herself to feel them burn out in lines of ash.

"Lilith," Joe said after a few minutes. "It hurts."

"I'm not stopping, Joe."

There was a moment's silence. "Okay," he said. She could feel the bunching of his jaw muscles against her body as he gritted his teeth.

She kept on with her work, until she heard and saw Shaw beside her. He was dressed in a pair of lint-flecked black sweat pants and wore a gray t-shirt that announced that its wearer fought for NRA freedom. The original owner of these items had been somewhat bigger than Shaw but only somewhat. Shaw had also found a handgun, which sat comfortably within his hand.

"What are you doing?" Shaw's voice was tight with tension, and Lilith's laugh did nothing to dissipate that.

"Radiotherapy, I think," she said.

Shaw crouched to look at Joe cradled in her arms. "Joe?"

"s'okay, Will," Joe slurred.

"It's dusk, Lilith."

"Then it's dusk."

"He's not in the house."

"Then we have time, don't we." She was angry. Why was he distracting her like this? She'd deal with Molinar when he came, but for now she had other things to worry about. Joe shuddered in her arms, and then wept, brief, soundless, breathless sobs. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered. "But it hurts."

"Soon," she crooned. "Soon." She wasn't drawing out thread any longer. It was more like picking out tiny golden maggots from a wound, before finally she was satisfied that there were no more. There was only Joe, his skin sparking briefly orange even after she laid him down and stepped away from him.

She turned to see Shaw still standing beside her, far smaller next to this form than she was next to him in her humanity. He wore an expression that she didn't think she'd ever seen before – fear.

"What have you done?" he snarled.

"It's gone," she said. "Whatever Molinar did is fixed. I'd have thought that was good news."

"You used the darklight," he said. Self-evident. "Have you made a Raeborne out him? Out of me?" His voice was rough, and his knuckles white around the gun in his hand.

"Do you want to poison all the world for your own revenge, Shaw? I don't think so. You're alive, and The Faith won't expect you to euthanise Joe like a rabid dog. I'm calling that a win." Then she placed her hands on his shoulders, ignoring the wary set of his body, and gently put him aside to leave that little basement room.

***

The upstairs rooms had higher ceilings, although she still couldn't stand quite upright. For comfort, she made herself human again, small, more prone to anxiety, and tired. Very tired. Her head drooped.

Shaw had followed her. "He can't be far away. It was dawn when he left here, and he didn't have the time."

"He'll be back soon enough, and when he is, I'll deal with him. _I'll_ deal with him, Shaw."

Shaw stood in the middle of the room, weary-looking but alert. It looked like another t-shirt had been sacrificed for make-shift bandages that braceleted his wrists, although the wound on his neck was still open and wet-raw. "And how will you do that?"

"Yeah, how will you do that?" It was Joe. He'd pulled his sweater back on, and he had a hand against the door frame for balance. His eyes flicked to Shaw. "Nice shirt."

Shaw's head tilted in calculated exasperation; he was willing to try for a diversion. "It was the first one out of the drawer."

Joe looked at him, as if professionally examining Shaw and his wounds, before he asked again, "How will you do that, Lilith?"

"I'll kill him, Joe. What would you expect?"

Joe's face was set, and then he shut his eyes, as if the world was too much to look upon. The wound on his throat was scabbing over, nothing like Shaw's. "How?" he asked, and then before Lilith could answer he shouted "How?"

Shaw held up his hand and said sharply, "I can hear a vehicle." He hoisted the gun into a more battle-ready posture.

"Wait, then," Lilith said and stepped past the two men, and out of the house. She was off the porch before she was framed in the light thrown by the approaching car.

"Hello?" she called shyly, as the man behind the wheel stopped, got out and walked towards her. "I'm sorry. My bike broke down, and your house was closest. There's no cell coverage out here worth a damn, and I'm hoping you have a phone."

He was maybe Shaw's height, this vampire, and dark, and handsome enough with his long hair and closely trimmed beard. "Good evening," he said. "You're a surprise." He smiled.

"I am sorry," she repeated.

He gestured to the house. "Come inside," he said, and laid a hand on her shoulder. If she'd only been the lost traveller she'd claimed to be, she would have flinched at the familiarity. But even in this human form, she could feel the age in him, the stretching out of time. She tried to move away and his grip tightened, so she turned and held him in her turn, growing into her other form. He struggled in her arms, twisting like a fighting cat, before suddenly surrendering, and staring up at her with dark bravado.

"Definitely a surprise. A friend of Joe's I take it."

She smiled, and he flinched. "A close friend of Joe's."

"And there's the man himself." The light had gone on at the porch, illuminating the yard and the scuffs on the ground of their struggle. Molinar's voice was amused, although his expression promised murder. "Hello, Joe."

Joe stepped forward, one hand on the rail as he walked down the steps. He halted perhaps six feet away from them. Shaw was close behind, and looked as grim as Molinar.

Joe swallowed. "Simon."

"You've found stranger company than me, I see," which made Lilith wince in her turn. Joe had exchanged one monster for another; she wondered briefly what would happen when all this was finished with.

Molinar's name seemed to be all that Joe could say. Instead, he looked at Lilith, his eyes huge in his drawn face. Better to put everyone out of their misery she thought.

"Shaw. Why don't you and Joe take Molinar's car and get out of here? I'll catch up later."

"After my daylight execution, I take it?" Molinar sounded very urbane for someone considering extinction. Joe, however, made a noise like he wanted to be sick, and then he turned, and grabbed the gun out of Shaw's hand. He held it by the handle, at arms-length in both hands but not pointing it. Shaw held his hands out in front of himself anyway. It was a calming, placating gesture. He exchanged one, quick look with Lilith. "Joe?" he said quietly.

Joe shook his head. Molinar was tensed again inside Lilith's hold. Then Joe lifted his head; there was a despairing determination in his face as he looked, not at Molinar, but at Lilith.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"They always were." Molinar's voice was venomous. "And if you don't think that they'll do the same to you now, then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

"Shut up, Simon! Just shut the fuck up!" Joe gasped for breath. "Would this kill you? If I jammed it up under your jaw and pulled the trigger, would it put an end to you?" His voice shook, and he took a step forward, as if to make the experiment. Lilith stayed steady, although she felt Molinar shift under her hands.

"Probably not permanently," he said. "Do you think that I owe you, then, Joe?"

"You don't owe me anything," Joe said bitterly. Shaw had moved beside him, watchful, poised. Joe turned, and left the gun sitting on the edge of the second to top step at the porch. He turned back and looked at Lilith, not Molinar.

"Whatever you do... don't draw it out. I don't want..." His head jerked towards the gun. "Use that before the sun gets at him." He looked at Shaw, then, who stepped forward.

"Your keys, Mr Molinar?"

"Might I be permitted?" Molinar asked. Lilith smiled – or did she just bare her teeth – at this exchange of courtesies.

"Which pocket?" Lilith said.

"The right." Carefully, she loosened part of her hold. She was sure that she had the strength to restrain him, but she wasn't taking chances with Molinar against two fragile, human men. Molinar fished out his keys and threw them at Shaw with vicious precision. Shaw snatched them out of the air before they could hit his face, and then directed Joe around Lilith and Molinar, heading to the car.

"Thank you for the anaesthesia, Joe," Molinar called. Joe's head ducked, and his shoulders hunched. He looked more like a man going to his death than Molinar. "How long do you think you'll last? How long do you think they'll keep you as their pet, like your lady-love here? I know The Faith, McKay! Faith but no mercy!" Molinar was shouting it, his voice breaking in his rage, and Joe nearly stumbled as he got into the car, until Shaw steadied him, and shut the door. Molinar still shouted invective, as Shaw guided the car down the drive and onto the road. Then they were alone, just Lilith and Molinar, and the house surrounded by trees and a small stream chattering nearby.

Molinar's anger ran down after a while, and with the other two gone, Lilith felt safer in letting go of him. As soon as she'd stepped back, he turned to face her.

"A deal for you. If he's valuable to you. Let me go, and I'll teach you how to live undercover, and live well. I'm sure you could pick it up, but a head-start can't hurt now, can it?"

Lilith looked down at him. "If you hadn't touched him, you wouldn't need to be making your offer."

His eyes were calculating, but his voice was full of charm. "My apologies, sweet lady. I didn't realise just how strong his new ties were."

"You could have asked him. But then, you're not about _asking_, are you?"

"No, no I'm not. Why are you? And working with The Faith of all organisations?" He moved back and sat on the porch, picking up the gun and cradling it in his hands. She let him. It couldn't do more than inconvenience her in this form.

"Perhaps they think I make a good pet," she rumbled, bitterly aware of the foundation of truth to it.

He waved a hand apologetically. "Heat of the moment," he said. "I think that I could be excused, don't you?"

She said nothing.

"This is going to be rather boring, isn't it? A long night waiting, and the amenities of this property are rather basic. What shall we do with ourselves?" he asked brightly.

Lilith crouched down in front of the steps. It was fascinating looking at him with this sight. There had still been boundaries between what was Joe and human, and what were the changes that Molinar's bite had induced. In Molinar, it was all of one piece. Lilith knew that he still had organs, bones, borrowed blood, but her mind persisted with the image of a stuffed doll, filled to the seams with dull orange sawdust, dry, and flammable.

"Joe and his guardian rather implied the possibility of another deal, you know."

"And you showed them such good faith."

"As much as they showed me. I'm not really very trusting. It's how I've lived so long, after all." Lilith stared at him, unblinking. "I'd rather like to go on living. It's grown to be a habit."

"We all have to break habits eventually."

Molinar stood, still playing with the gun. "I'm a good shot, you know."

"And I'm fast, and very, very tough. Do you want me to see how long it takes you spit out a gag? Or should I just lock you in the room where you left my friends? I could probably put the door back together again somehow." She felt sick of this already. She didn't want to exchange verbal jabs and parries with this man for another ten hours. She certainly couldn't task him with his crimes or claim any moral high ground. Her own killings must surely have equalled his.

"My apologies, dark lady. I shall just sit here quietly and contemplate my crimes, shall I?"

It passed like that for a couple of hours, perhaps. Molinar sat on the porch and made various bitter, probing remarks. He indulged a long reminiscence of his previous experience with The Faith, two hundred and more years ago when Lilith still lived in feral, naked madness. Nothing he told her surprised her much, and she replied to him as little as possible.

It was almost a relief when he made a run for it, and she followed after him as reflexively as a cat chasing a mouse. He was fast and sure in the dark, but it was a foregone conclusion when she caught him and tackled him. He was a flexible, desperate fighter. Holding him wasn't at issue. Getting a grip first was the problem, but finally she held him down against the earth, as if he was a lover.

"I'm not one of your cattle," she told him.

"I know. So why do you do what the cattle tell you to?" he jibed. "You don't think that they'll let you keep Joe, do you? Make him Bloody Marys?"

"Joe won't need those," she snarled at him. "I got to him in time, and I stopped it. You're the only vampire we need to worry about."

He stared up at her, in momentary confusion, and then he laughed in her face. "That was foolish of you. They don't last, and I think that you might. Yes, I think that you might."

She growled then.

"I should have kept the gun. I'm growing bored with the waiting." He didn't look bored. He looked fiercely alive, and afraid.

"I can fix that."

A salacious, mocking grin crossed his face. "You're not my type, unless you'd like to change back to the charming little thing that met me first."

"I don't think so."

"No." He shook his head. "Finish it, if you're going to. This isn't doing anything for me, I assure you. Or else let me go. I'll keep my head down. The Faith doesn't have to know anything about it, and you may need a friend further down the road. I'm about two thousand years old. You?"

"I'm five years old," she told him, just to see his face. And then she took his advice, and finished it, as best she could, with a long, taloned hand into his chest that wrapped around his heart. He seemed insensible after a while, so far as she could judge. It was all she could think of to do in the long wait for the sunrise. He made no sound when the first rays struck his body. There was no movement that she couldn't attribute to the purely autonomic movement of muscles and tendons as they burned, and finally there was nothing left of him except dust. She picked up a handful of ash, thinking that she'd tried to honour Joe's intent, and then she made the change, watched the ash smear grey across her pale, human fingers. There was no blood to mingle with the ash; the change had burned it all away.

Two thousand years. She wondered if there was a reason that she'd gone mad.

***

She knew where to find Joe and Shaw. The knowledge hummed quietly in her just as the bike hummed under her body, and she followed it, riding with careful attention because she was exhausted once again now that she was human. She'd have to think about what it meant, physically, as well as everything else. Joe, as a doctor, might have thoughts, and Shaw, as a veteran of the supernatural, might have thoughts also. Whether they'd want to share those thoughts with her was another matter. Shaw had asked if she'd made Raebornes out of them, and she didn't have an answer for him, not really. Raeborne had been convinced that the secret of immortality lay in the darklight in her body, and she seemed to be the proof of that. She thought of living two thousand years conscious and aware and sane, and nursed a small, secret hope that might need forgiveness from Joe and Shaw somewhere down the passing of time. Shaw knew how to forgive her for something done unaware, at least.

The bike eventually roared up the driveway of another isolated, rural house, although this one was far more substantial than the hideout that Molinar had used. Men in familiar dark clothes came out to greet her, Mark Rivera among them.

"Lilith."

"Shaw and Dr Warren are here, aren't they." She felt as if she could fall over; her jacket draped on her shoulders like a dead weight, her helmet dragged down her arm.

"They're out the back."

"Good. I'll go see them." She walked past them all, head high despite the tiredness.

There was a garden around the back, tastefully laid out with fashionable plants, and there was a garden bench under an upright-growing tree. Joe sat there, his elbows leaning on his thighs, his head down. It was full daylight and a quiet sun dappled the leaves and the skin on his hands, but he showed no signs of distress. Shaw leaned against the tree trunk, looking as tired as Lilith felt. He was dressed properly in the dark street clothes of The Faith. He'd even found some shoes from somewhere – but then it had been a long night.

She stopped for a moment, not knowing how to deal with either of them. Shaw tilted his head, made a small, quirky shift of one brow. 'Approach,' that body language said. Joe looked up.

"He's dead then?" he asked.

"Yes, he's dead." A pause for a breath, for calm, to take a few more steps. "It was as quick as I could make it, Joe."

"He's tough." It sounded almost proud, and then she saw Joe wince as he realised what he'd said – as if Molinar were still alive.

"So am I." She saw a small smile cross Shaw's face. Approval.

Joe grinned sourly. "Bad ass. I should be pissed off about that, except for that whole lying by omission thing that I had going too." He turned his head, gestured at Shaw behind him. "Will and I have been talking."

Lilith could believe that. Shaw had a bruised look about him that was purely emotional.

"About Anders Raeborne, stuff like that," Joe continued, before he stood and took a couple of steps towards her. "And I thought that you should know that Simon never did bite me. He had this twisted idea that he was going to woo me, and he took Will because he had a grudge against The Faith, and then you came along and rescued us, and all is happy in the garden."

Lilith couldn't quite believe her ears. "You're okay with this?" she demanded of Shaw.

He shrugged. "Not exactly."

Joe bit nervously at his bottom lip. "He's okay enough to help me work out the finer details." Finer details presumably included which Horsemen of the Apocalypse would appear over the horizon now that the world had seen the Sign of William Shaw Lying to The Faith, for any reason.

"I think that I'd prefer to save the world rather than destroy it. That will have to do as reassurance for now," Shaw said with a steady calm that she hardly knew how to trust.

"It's a beautiful morning," Joe said. "A little chilly maybe but I'm out here in the sunshine. Thank you. I don't know how to express it any more than that. Just...thank you." He put out his arms, scared, anxious, but still welcoming. Forgiving. Lilith knew what she _should_ do. She should consider the risk to this man of touching her, of what sort of hold she might have on him after months of close contact. That was what she ought to consider. But she went to Joe and she put her arms around his neck and she buried her face against his shoulder, while his arms closed convulsively about her. He felt human under her hands, as human as she felt in this moment. Maybe Joe's touch would impart that to her. Maybe it was a two-way street. She could hope.

They stood there, close together for a while, uncaring of the men who were likely observing them from the house. Then Joe let go of her and turned to Shaw, one hand grasping Shaw's arm which was encased in the armour of his leather jacket. "Thank you, too. I mean that."

"I know you do."

Lilith joined them, and took Joe's hand. And then she took Shaw's hand. She was sure and precise about it, which was amazing given her nervousness in that moment. He looked at the clasp, and a moment of genuine fear once again crossed his face, before resolution chased it away, and his fingers squeezed once, warm and firm against her skin.

Joe smiled, clearly just as scared. "So, I guess this means we're the three musketeers, right?"

"I guess so," Lilith replied, letting go of their hands and turning back towards the house. Yes. There was Rivera at one window. She only smiled.

There were some ideas that The Faith was just going to have to get used to.


End file.
